


After Apocalypse

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Category: Marvel, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Actually pretty much spoilers for every X-Men movie except Logan, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alkali Lake, Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Attempted Murder, Autopsies, Blood and Gore, Brain Damage, Brotherhood of Mutants, Child Loss, Christmas Presents, Confusion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Falling In Love, Fear, Friends of Humanity, Friends to Lovers, Gang Violence, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Kidnapping, Logan Needs A Hug, Loneliness, M/M, Mass Death, Memory Loss, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mercy Killing, Night Terrors, Partial Mind Control, Past Brainwashing, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Photographs, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Warfare, Racism, Revenge, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Terrorism, Time Skips, Timeline Shenanigans, Torture, Weapon X Project, X-Men: Apocalypse Spoilers, X-Men: Days of Future Past Spoilers, tags are in no particular order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-04-29 18:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 108,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14478972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Three years after her first (and most intense) mission as a new X-Man, Jean Grey and Charles Xavier finally locate the vicious feral mutant who helped her rescue their friends from Colonel Stryker's bunker. At first glance, Jean thinks he's doing surprisingly well, but once he's been brought back to the school the true depths of his suffering and traumatic past are slowly unraveled for her to see.Still unsure of who he is, Logan is unpleasantly surprised to be visited by other mutants, but reluctantly allows them to bring him to what they claim is a safe place for him to recover. Plagued by hideous nightmares and inexplicable moments of deja vu, the only person who doesn't seem to fear Logan is a kind medical student who claims she's met him before. Even as she and her mentors attempt to help him piece himself together, Logan is unexpectedly drawn to her throughout her struggle to control her unstable powers.





	1. 1986.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fate Continued](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053832) by [JulietaJuris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietaJuris/pseuds/JulietaJuris). 



> I ship these two so hard it hurts. I have other OTPs in other fandoms, but none of them grab me more than Jean and Logan do. I keep coming back to them and wishing they were together in the canon, especially the movies. Famke Janssen has NO chemistry with James Marsden, like at all, and on the other hand she and Hugh Jackman... oh my god how do they not light each other on fire. (Of course that probably is helped by the fact that Hugh could have chemistry with a brick, seriously.) Famke and Hugh as Jean and Logan are fucking gorgeous and I hate how nobody but me seems to write this pairing most of the time.
> 
> This fic is like 90% stuff from the movies and my own creatively horrible ideas about what they did at Alkali Lake to break Logan's psyche. There's only like 10% of stuff from the comics in here, but if you really squint you can see it (in later chapters anyway).
> 
> Throughout the passage of time in this narrative, I'm sort of imagining the younger actors starting to become the older actors (except Logan, obviously, who I picture as the way he looks in X2). So like Michael Fassbender becoming Ian McKellen, James McAvoy becoming Patrick Stewart, etc.
> 
> I am not going to see Dark Phoenix when it comes out, or any new X-Men movies when they inevitably get rebooted. I have no interest in them whatsoever, because the original X-Men movie came out when I was 4 years old, so for me Hugh Jackman IS Wolverine and there can never be anyone else who does that role. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m assuming them at age 17 during the events of XMA, so Jean is in college right now but she was a bright student and was able to take classes that would go to her college credits.

 

Prologue.

 

_Jean could still feel the echoing rage as the three of them followed the rampaging clawed mutant from a safe distance. He’d gone terribly berserk and was slaughtering his way through the uniformed troops, alarms blaring all around and blood spraying the walls. The sheer carnage taking place made her feel a little queasy, but Jean was certain there had been no other way out of the situation. She was even more certain that setting him free, butchery or no, had been the right thing to do._

_It was fairly obvious they’d been torturing him - the room his box had been kept in was filled with medical instruments, body scans, power tools… and when he’d been set loose, the announcement over the intercom was only four words: “Weapon X is loose!” A chilling label not fit for a human being, because clearly they didn’t see him as one. That alone made her sick._

_Rounding the bend saw his lean, strong body shoving open a metal exterior door, but Jean felt the moment he smelled them. He whipped around, claws still out, but even as Scott and Kurt were on the verge of panic she stopped them… all three of them, her friends and the prisoner. She gently reached out with her mind, getting a hunch that words would be lost on him._

*I can help you.*

_The man paused, breathing deeply like an animal. Jean could tell she was making him nervous, but not in a way that invoked violence. More like feelings of despair, helplessness, grief… That was confusing, but Jean pushed the thought aside for a second and reached up with her hands. He got scared briefly and grabbed her wrist to stop her, but she was able to psychically soothe him again and he let her tug the helmet free from the tangled mess of dark, unwashed hair._

_Her fingertips brushed his temples, and his eyes slipped closed. Jean felt him become docile, accepting her presence with the expectation of some type of pain and yet not protesting. She caught the thread of his memories, trying to free them from whatever brainwashing had been performed, and hit something strange._

_Jean saw herself in his head._

_It went by so quickly that she almost didn’t notice it had happened before it was over, and once it was over she wondered if it had been real at all, but for a split instant she was sucked to some other time and place, of destruction and death and the loss of innocent lives and oh god, he was sorry, he was so sorry, Jean, he wanted there to be another way, why did she ask him to do it…?_

_But even in that tiny sliver of chaos, and inexplicably terrified by what she had almost not seen, Jean also found enough of him to remind him that he was a human being._

*Logan,* _she whispered into his aching mind, attaching his real name to him over the ugly callsign “Weapon X.” She did it in the way that he would at least have something to call himself by, a man’s name instead of a code._

Jean, _his thoughts murmured back, though she wasn’t sure how he knew her name. Even more strangely, it was tinny and staticky, like a bad recording on an answering machine… and like he didn’t have control over it, probably didn’t even know it was there, it simply happened to exist in his mind whether he wanted it to or not._ I love you, Jean… I always will…

 

Jean’s eyes snapped open to the obnoxious bleeping of her alarm clock, causing her to groan and roll onto her stomach with the pillow over her head. Waking up at six in the morning on a weekend for X-Men training was bad enough on its own, but she was also getting really sick of re-dreaming the incident at Stryker’s base three years ago.

It wasn’t like having the damn dream at least once a week every week was actually helpful, given that she still couldn’t get a handle on how the tortured man knew her name and thought he loved her. It had been such a strange experience - like the memory of himself whispering the words in a reverent and mournful way didn’t even belong to him, but had been left there by some careless person who didn’t notice what kind of trash they were dropping all over the place as they stomped around and did whatever they wanted.

And yet Jean kept dreaming about it no matter what she tried. It scared her a little (okay, a lot) when she recalled it; fake memory or no, the way he’d spoken even in such few words was evident that he _knew_ her somehow, loved her somehow, and something about it made him sad for reasons probably nobody would ever understand.

The thing that she personally couldn’t get a grasp on (even among the confusion this had already caused her) was that she almost didn’t want the dreams to stop. Jean wanted to find him again, talk with him, see if he’d escaped his demons and what kind of man he was and if he had access to that memory and if he remembered her setting him free. In only a moment of mental contact, that man - Logan - had made more of an impact on her than most people did over several years. And she needed to know why.

* * *

1.

 

Jean really hated the library clock when she looked up at it - because now somehow it was 9:43 PM, she’d missed dinner _again,_ her homework was still in an ominous stack of uncompleted tasks and this damn essay wasn’t going to write itself but she’d scribbled and erased the first paragraph in her notebook like twenty times now and God, was this _really_ her life?!

It made her curse how smart she was. Dr. McCoy had laughed when she’d expressed that thought, but had also agreed with her that sometimes it was much more a burden than a blessing to be a highly intelligent person. Because now she was going to be stuck with another all-nighter for her freaking homework so that she could get her freaking college courses done and get into freaking medical school. Ugh. Why was becoming a doctor so damn hard? Of course Hank had laughed when she’d said that, too.

The idea of spending another day exhausted was frightening, though. Phoenix was testing its powers all the time, looking for weak spots in her mind, and Jean knew she couldn’t let it out. Yes, there had been the fight to stop Apocalypse, but that was an extreme scenario which hopefully wouldn’t be repeated. Now she knew it was there, all this awful force within herself and no real outlet for it… sometimes during her nightmares she’d accidentally set curtains on fire or stripped paint right from the walls of her bedroom. Of course Professor Xavier had always been kind and understanding about it, but that didn’t make Jean any less terrified.

Ugh, she was getting nowhere. She’d have to come back to writing the paper and do something else for awhile, but all that math stacked up on the table didn’t look any more appealing. Jean just needed a break - a break from school, a break from Phoenix, a break from everyone else who lived here being terrified of her because of her powers, a break from Scott still not getting the hint after three years that _no,_ she was not interested in pursuing a relationship right now because her life was too busy as it was (and also a secret suspicion she had that he might be… gay).

As if the “be careful what you wish for” gods were listening, right then Jean heard the professor telepathically summoning her to Cerebro because he’d discovered something she might be interested to see.

Sighing with relief that she had an excuse to blow off this crap, even if it was only for a few minutes, Jean stepped out of the library and made her way to the basement. Of course, being around anybody these days when she was on this campus instead of at college for her classes was just one more in a series of sharp reminders jabbing her with the fact that everyone here was afraid to be where she was. Even Professor Xavier and Dr. McCoy were a little; not as much as most people, but enough that she knew it was there.

That on its own was unsettling. Jean knew they’d seen some horrific things long before she’d come to the school or even been born (usually thanks to the professor’s turbulent friendship with Erik Lehnsherr), so the fact that she was off-putting for the pair of brainiac mutants was more than a little unnerving to say the least.

As she approached with an inward sigh, the doors to Cerebro pulled open smoothly and she was able to walk up behind her teacher. Xavier was clearly excited over _something,_ in a way that he normally wasn’t. Usually he was calm and focused, but apparently whatever he’d found was extremely intriguing.

“Is something wrong, professor?” Jean asked, coming to his side.

“No, far from it, in fact,” he smiled. In the background the doors hissed shut again. “I’ve spent some amount of time, I confess, looking for… well, looking for an old friend, in a sense.”

“Erik just visited last week,” Jean replied, confused.

“No, not Erik,” Xavier chuckled. “There was a man thirteen years ago who helped me and Hank with a difficult situation, and if not for him, things now would be very different than they are. And I think you’d be interested to meet him as well.”

“Why?”

“Just look.”

With them both concentrating, it took less than a second for the tiny lights of people’s thoughts to come to them, all seven continents and the occasional minuscule dot where someone was on a ship at sea in the vast dark space of the world. At Xavier’s direction, they “arrived” in the wilds of northwest Canada, showing a grimy logging camp. Most of the workers were humans, a little paler and less vibrant than one who was now in the center of their focus. He blazed up in full color, sitting out with a beer in his fist and looking at the sky while his cohorts were all in the bar getting into drunk fights or gambling at card games. Jean recognized him instantly.

_*How did you know, professor?*_

_*You’re quite loud when you dream sometimes,*_ he smiled.

 _*Are we going to… go to him?*_ Jean couldn’t help but ask. She had so many questions for that mysterious, wild prisoner. So many things to say. And not to say, potentially, because asking him too much might cause him to become enraged like in the bunker. _*He’s a mutant, after all, and your friend.*_

 _*Yes. But not right now. He’s in a different time zone, so we’ll leave at noon tomorrow in the Blackbird. Hopefully he can be convinced.*_ Cerebro’s illusion fell away from them, letting them re-enter the tangible world. “In the meantime, Hank is still wide awake working on one of his pet-projects. I’m sure he could be persuaded to help you finish your homework.”

Jean nodded, but was paying less than perfect attention to her mentor. She was much more interested in the new image she had of the clawed man: worn-out but relatively clean clothes, reasonably tamed hair, gazing thoughtfully out at the night. Such an unassuming pose, really, just sitting and holding a beer, but in the context of the man she’d called Logan it seemed… noble, somehow, or maybe striking was a better word for it. That in three years he’d gone from brainwashed torture subject to an ordinary man with an ordinary job who liked to contemplate the stars as they came out. Jean decided she liked that portrait of him and held onto it for the rest of the night.

 

The next morning, before the mission, Jean took her breakfast to the library with the intent to finish the last little scraps of homework from the previous night. Hank had helped her get the bulk of it done, but she still needed to read a chapter out of her biology textbook and answer the questions at the end. She’d saved it for last on purpose, though, because biology had always been her favorite. The intricate little ways that every organ, every cell, every little molecule all fit together to make the human body function were so endlessly fascinating for her - she learned anatomy and physiology by mentally picturing it in three dimensions, like a much better (and somehow less impossible) rubix cube.

Entering the library, Jean immediately realized her plans would have to wait, because Professor Xavier and more surprisingly Erik Lehnsherr were sitting at the table her school books had been left on last night. Obviously, they’d been waiting for her.

“Good morning, professor, Erik,” she greeted, just standing for a moment holding her tray of food. “Is this about the mission today?”

“Yes,” Xavier nodded, motioning for her to sit with them. “Erik has agreed to accompany us as a safety precaution.”

“What does he have to protect us from?” she frowned, scooting the chair closer to the table and reaching for her spoon. “We’re just going to talk with a mutant and see if he might want to join us here, right? Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“In a sense, yes,” Erik answered. “But he’s proven more than a handful before. I may need to protect you and Charles from Logan.”

“I don’t think he would attack us,” Jean argued after swallowing a bite of cereal.

“We don’t have any way of knowing that until we meet him in person,” Professor Xavier explained, his voice slightly uncomfortable with what he was about to tell her. “Yes, Erik and I have encountered him and worked with him before. Yes, you helped him escape from a terrible situation. But even when we knew him, he was-”

“Insufferable,” Erik muttered.

“-complicated,” the professor finished as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “He has a great many demons from his past and they tend to get the better of him. We just wanted you to be warned before we leave, because the man you’re going to meet today is not the man you expect him to be. Please try not to have illusions about that.”

“Okay, professor,” Jean agreed. “Can I finish my homework now?”

“I suppose that’s a reasonable request,” Xavier smiled. “I certainly can’t discourage you from completing your studies.”

* * *

2.

 

He smelled them coming before he saw or even heard them. They wore an unusual scent, jet fuel and fabric softener and consumer-grade paper. Definitely not locals. Individually, their scents were even stranger: one smelled like ink and ozone, one stank of metal dust and vengeance. The third one, though, smelled like… fire. Fire and loneliness, the same way he smelled like blood and loneliness. He connected that scent, inexplicably, to sadness and resigned grief. How could the smell of a person he didn’t even know make him fucking _sad?_

Snorting to get the odors out of his nose, Logan chewed harder on his cigar and got back to work, having only paused for a few seconds. It bothered him, these three approaching strangers, because he just _knew_ he’d encountered them before but couldn’t place it. His fucking head was just one big hole with “redacted” stamped over it.

His bones were itching again.

That irked him more than anything else, because the last time his bones had “itched” it was during the lost years when he’d been healing up in a dark metal box after they’d injected him with the same metal. Unbreakable. Adamantium, they called it, this indestructible metal which he was then caged in after the holding cell where they-

 _NO!_ Logan screamed to himself, shutting that thought down. He wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t remember _that._ Not again. He had bigger problems.

Two men and a young woman. One was crippled. He immediately didn’t like the other man, the angry metal-shavings-smell one. The woman, though… she was the one who smelled like fire, and he was at once drawn to her and pained by seeing her. What the hell was going on here?

“Good morning, Logan,” the cripple greeted him, smiling. “I was wondering if you have time to speak with us for a moment.”

“Who the hell are you and how do you know my name?” he demanded in reply, instantly suspicious.

“I know you don’t remember us, but you’ve met us before… all three of us. I’m Charles Xavier, this is my friend Erik Lehnsherr, and my former pupil Jean Grey.”

A spike of tortured longing lanced his chest at her name.

“You government spooks or somethin’?” Logan demanded, struggling to keep his claws in. This was getting weirder by the second and he didn’t like it. He didn’t trust these people, except… except maybe _her._ Jean Grey. He thought he remembered her name from somewhere, maybe his dreams, but then he hardly ever recalled his dreams once he woke up from them anyway. “The hell you want from me?”

“We’re not with the government, I assure you,” Charles answered, still smiling. “We’re here to help you.”

“Yeah, that’s what they always say,” Logan growled.

“We just want to talk,” the woman interrupted softly, holding her hands out to him. Something about the gesture tickled his brain, like he’d seen her do it before. “Please, Logan, it won’t take long.”

And because it was _her_ asking him, Logan found himself nodding wordlessly and following the strange trio. He thought he’d probably do anything she asked of him, ever, and he couldn’t figure out why she had that effect on him.

“Before you say another god damn word, you tell me how you know me,” Logan insisted once they’d walked a few minutes from his job site.

“We’ve met before,” Charles repeated. “In fact, you once helped me save someone’s life. But… it’s unlikely you’ll ever remember having done that. The truth is, Logan, you’ve been brainwashed by… what was his name?”

“Stryker,” Jean supplied.

“Yes. In any case, we know you, Logan, and we want to help you. We know you’re a mutant, and we’re mutants, too.”

“You can’t help me,” he argued, his mood darkening further. “Nobody can.”

“Professor Xavier and I are both telepaths,” Jean told him quietly. “We read minds. So we might be able to help you remember yourself, at least a little. We really do want to help you, Logan.”

She pitied him, he realized then. It was like a gut-punch.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Logan spat, hands balling into fists. “You fuckin’ people just show up here without warnin’, tell me you know me, and just expect me to go along with whatever bullshit you came up with on the ride over? Forget it, bub. I ain’t fallin’ for no more talks about ‘just wantin’ to help.’ ’Cause y’know what, that’s what the last ones said, too, and that ain’t how it turned out. So, no fuckin’ thanks. We’re done here.” He paused briefly, looking over his shoulder. “And if you let these guys know I’m a… a… _you-know-what,_ I’mma find you and gut you, you understand?” And he left them there without looking back.

 

Erik and Xavier stayed with the jet this time, while Jean went to talk with Logan by herself. She’d waited until the end of his work day, sitting patiently on his bunk, and was unsurprised when he came in alone even though his fellows were all headed off to drink.

“The fuck?” Logan hissed under his breath, stopping abruptly and staring. “What’re you still doin’ here? Thought I told all’a you to piss off.”

“Because I’ve been trying to find you for awhile,” Jean answered, then decided she should choose her words more carefully. “Logan… do you remember, about three years ago, leaving a concrete bunker?”

The blades came out at that, longer than she remembered and with a dull bluish gleam. She wasn’t surprised by those, either, or afraid of them. Something about his behavior, and what she’d seen of him so far, told Jean that he wouldn’t actually hurt her. Maybe he couldn’t.

“No, Logan, I promise it’s not what you think. Some of my friends were kidnapped by Stryker, just like you probably were, and so we had to go rescue them. We wouldn’t have been able to without your help, you know. I… opened the cage you were in. You took care of the rest.”

“You… you were there?”

His words were a whisper and full of shock, and his claws retracted back into his hands. Progress.

“I wanted to help you, too, but there just wasn’t time. We had to stop a very powerful enemy… but I never forgot about you. Professor Xavier has been looking for you, too. You used to be his friend. We wanted to find you and… and help you sort things out.”

Logan shook his head the way a dog shook water from its pelt. “Look, I’mma be honest with you, lady. Showin’ up here and demandin’ I just go places with you and your friends ain’t exactly inspirin’ trust for me, okay? Why the hell should I believe you?”

Jean stood up slowly, but he still visibly tensed. “No, it’s okay, I’m just going to show you. It won’t hurt.”

She knew he was having deja vu like she was right then, with her fingers at his temples. Jean gently inserted the images and information into his thoughts - the school, its mission for protecting mutants, how secure it was. And about Xavier, teaching and aiding even adults who didn’t know where to turn for support.

Pulling back, Jean saw that his eyes had closed, just like last time. She wondered if it had helped, but when Logan looked at her again there was still no recognition there. There was no reason that should give her a little twinge of pain.

“Look,” he started, then stopped again and seemed to think briefly. “Whatever. Lemme just get my money first.”

“Do you have any stuff to bring with you?”

“Not really.” He gestured to his backpack. “Either you keep your shit on you or you just don’t have nothin’ to steal here. For me, it’s both.”

It didn’t take long for him to collect his pay, and Jean led him back to the Blackbird in silence. He stiffened when he saw it.

“Something wrong, Logan?”

“Nothin’. Let’s get this over with.”

Even without reading his thoughts, Jean realized he was scared of flying and smiled. “Don’t worry. Hank taught me, I’m a good pilot.”

The only answer she got was an embarrassed growl.

* * *

3.

 

So, this was a school for mutants. Logan had never seen so many freaks in one place before. He didn’t really care about that, though. He just wanted their help and then to leave without hassle.

First he was shown around, which floors had the kids on them and which ones had teachers and adult residents. Classrooms, rec rooms, fitness areas, the outer grounds. Then they showed him the rest of the basement - he’d had a glimpse on his way in after they’d landed, but it was a lot bigger than the one hall he’d seen. These people _were_ militarized, like he’d initially guessed, but not in the way he’d been thinking. They weren’t so much a government-sponsored terrorist cell as mutant vigilantes, keeping their eyes out for other mutants who were in trouble but without stepping on the lives of ordinary humans. A big round room where Charles could look for other mutants, some place called the “danger room” where his vigilantes trained themselves.

“And this is the med-lab,” Charles concluded, the final unexplored door opening.

Logan found himself claws out, back to the wall, reeling - the scents, surgical tools in sterile cabinets, big lights over operating tables.

“Logan, please, we’re not trying to put you in there-”

“Shut up!” he screamed, eyes darting.

Closest escape route… there. There! Logan made for the elevator and jammed a random button, on the verge of hyperventilating as it rose. He sprang out into an empty hall before the doors had finished opening again, running silently until he found an adequate space to cram himself into. Logan took stock - nobody had attacked him yet, probably from the element of surprise. He needed to orient himself, they’d showed him the layout of this place but he wasn’t completely sure where he was at the moment. Then he’d figure out what the fuck was going on. Depending on what he found, Logan would make a break for the outside or just butcher these people right here.

Footsteps approaching - he sniffed and was surprised to detect that it was a child. She knew he was there, somehow. A six-year-old girl poked her head into his hiding place and smiled shyly at him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Uh… hi,” Logan replied, eyeing her.

“You’re a new guy,” she stated. “There’s new guys who come here a lot. But you’re big.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, not really sure where this was going… but there was no way she was going after him. He’d smell it if she was.

“My name is Annie. What’s yours?”

“Logan.”

“I was gonna ask for some ice cream. Do you wanna come, too?”

“I…”

Annie frowned, starting to look upset. “Are you scared of me, Logan?” she whimpered. “My mommy and daddy got scared of me, too. Now I’m here. I’m the littlest one, and nobody wants to play with me ’cause I can hear their thinking.”

Ah, another telepath. Logan concluded his assessment of her as _harmless._

“Nah, it’s okay, you don’t gotta… I ain’t scared’a you, kid.”

A sniffle: “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Then will you get ice cream with me, Logan? I can’t reach it by myself.”

He sighed and slowly got up. “Sure, why not.”

Annie grinned at him, grabbing onto his fingers with her tiny hand as he followed her scent trail to the stairs. Once there, she took the lead and pulled him along to the kitchen. She began pointing excitedly to one of the freezers, so Logan opened it and began searching. The only thing was, he had no idea what to look for. Packages of frozen stuff were piled all on top of each other and he couldn’t distinguish between them.

“Which one is it?” Logan asked finally, scooping the girl into his arms and holding her up so she could find it.

“That’s it!” she squealed, grabbing onto one of the containers and squirming out of his grasp.

Logan closed the freezer and found that she was still watching him expectantly.

“What?”

“I need a bowl and a spoon.”

“Uh… right.” Logan rummaged the drawers until he found the spoons and handed her one that looked small enough to fit into her mouth, then pried the top off the ice cream for her. “There. That good?”

“I can just eat it?” she exclaimed, tiny face lighting up.

“Yeah,” Logan shrugged, not really getting why she _couldn’t_ just eat it.

At once, Annie began digging in with her little spoon, gorging herself on the cold and sweet-smelling food product. Logan just leaned back on the counter, wondering if she really _had_ been sent to find him so that he would let his guard down. He heard Charles approaching, but not with any obvious malice. The man wheeled in and chuckled.

“Ah, I see you’ve met our youngest student.”

“You ain’t gonna get me back down to that place,” Logan snarled, ready to let his claws back out should the need arise.

“I don’t intend to,” Charles assured him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Logan, and I’m sorry that I did.”

He growled.

“Logan gave me ice cream, professor!” Annie grinned, her face a smear of melted chocolate.

“Yes, so I can see. I think you’ve had quite enough for today, little one. Go wash up for me?”

“Okay!” she agreed, leaping off the chair and running out of the kitchen.

“So, I take it you have unpleasant feelings towards my lab.”

“No shit,” Logan sneered.

“Language, please. There are children here.”

“So I gathered.” Logan cocked his head. “Why d’you want me? I ain’t child-friendly and I ain’t a pet, neither.”

“For one, I think you’ve just proved to the contrary that you’re _quite_ child-friendly. And I never thought of you as a pet. You’re a man who I believe I can help, that’s all. And of course Jean has been interested to learn what became of you for some time. I could always sense that she wanted to ask me if I could find you with Cerebro, but she was afraid to for some reason. Luckily for her, I’ve been searching for you for several years. You’re a difficult man to find.”

“Yeah, that ain’t no accident, bub. Don’t usually like bein’ found.”

“That’s understandable. You’ve been terribly mistreated, my friend. Jean told me about finding you in the bunker. It was encouraging when we finally located you yesterday night and saw you living a normal life.”

“Did what I had to do to get by,” Logan grunted.

“I would like to ask you something, and I want you to be honest. Since you’ve agreed to come to the school, what would you like to gain by being here?”

“Thought you said you’re gonna help me get my life together.”

“Of course, but that’s such a vague goal,” Charles smiled. “For instance, often the children who arrive here are unable to control their gifts, so we teach them how. You, clearly, have control of yours. So is there something else you might need from me?”

“Uh… can I get back to you on that one?” Logan frowned.

“Of course. You may stay as long as you need. In fact… let’s start with something basic. A standard job application form should help us catalogue some of your traits.”

“You askin’ me to work here?”

“No, not unless you want to. It’s just an easy way to give us both some idea of what you’re like as a person.”

“Right now? It’s kinda late, don’t you think?” Yeah, switching time-zones had fucked up his internal clock something good. Now he was forced to rely on the ones present in the environment. “I ain’t tired or nothin’, but I figured all’a you might be.”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Charles agreed. “In the meantime, feel free to have something out of the fridge while I find you a room.”

As Logan was rummaging the food stock, he heard voices and feet approaching.

“...so I just thought, maybe we can study together?”

“Scott, for the last time, I’m not looking for a boyfriend right now. And how would we study? We don’t even go to the same school.”

“Well, no, I meant because we’re friends… are we still friends? You’ve been doing nothing but school lately.”

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I _am_ trying to become a doctor. I got credits from some of my classes when I was here, but that doesn’t lighten the workload as much as you seem to think it does.”

“It just feels like we never do anything together anymore, that’s all.”

A sigh. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. But this is something I have to take seriously. We’ll find time later, okay? Just not right now.”

The pair entered the kitchen and Logan pretended he hadn’t just eavesdropped on them by looking over the fridge door and faking a surprised look. Jean had some skinny college boy with her, and even though it was dark out he wore red sunglasses.

“Logan, this is my friend Scott,” Jean introduced. “Scott, do you remember Logan?”

“He looks a little familiar,” Scott shrugged.

Logan held up a fist and extended the claws. “That help any?”

Insofar as it was possible considering his eye wear, Scott gawked. “Holy shit! You’re _that_ guy?!”

Logan just rolled his eyes and went back to rummaging.

“Be nice to him,” Jean was muttering, apparently unaware of Logan’s keen hearing. “He just got here and he’s really disoriented. The professor is finding him a place to sleep on the teacher wing.”

“Is he going to try to kill all of us?”

“Only if you keep askin’ stupid questions,” Logan snarled, looking up from the fridge again and slamming it closed. “What’s with the fuckin’ sunglasses?”

“Well, I just need to say this first, but you can’t swear here, there’s young kids.” Logan grunted but said nothing. “And my mutation is in my eyes. I had a severe concussion as a kid so I can’t control it. It blasts holes in things and… well, let’s just say it’s not really conducive to the safety of everyone around me. But Dr. McCoy made these for me so now I can see like everyone else and not hurt them.”

“Ah, great. He should also work on somethin’ to make you less annoyin’ while he’s at it.”

“Do I still have to be nice to him?” Scott groused, addressing Jean.

“Yes. He’s new here, he doesn’t know the rules. Just - Scott, I promise I’ll come play Pac-Man with you this weekend, okay? I actually do need to talk to Logan and have it be a productive conversation.”

“Yeah,” the boy grumbled, then sulked off to presumably do his own thing.

“He doesn’t mean to irritate you,” Jean offered, smiling a little. “He annoyed me a little at first, too. But he grows on you.”

“I’m sure,” Logan snorted. “So, uh… you want somethin’?”

“I’m glad you decided to come with us, you know. I was… I just worried about what might happen after you got out of the base. But I guess you did okay, huh?”

“Kinda,” he shrugged, feeling slightly nervous. She made him feel that way, and he didn’t know why. Did she know the effect she had on him? Sort of flighty-jumpy and remorseful. None of those things fit together. “Um. So you’re a student?”

“Yeah. I graduated two years ago and now I’m doing pre-med. There aren’t enough doctors who understand mutants, so… I want to even the scales a little. And it seems like a good way that I can help, too. The professor said once I graduate medical school and complete my internship and my residency, I can work here with Hank and do research projects with him.”

“Hm. Y’know that kid makin’ passes at you’s a faggot, right?”

“Excuse me?” Jean demanded.

“Hey, I ain’t judgin’, just sayin’ it like it is.”

“For your information, Scott’s one of my best friends-”

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that, okay? Already said I ain’t judgin’ him for it. All I meant by it is you shouldn’t take him too seriously when he says those things. He don’t mean nothin’ by it and it makes him feel normal.”

“How do you know all that?”

“My sniffer,” Logan smirked, tapping the end of his nose. “Kid was a hundred times more inter’sted in me than he was in you just now.”

Jean rolled her eyes at him and folded her arms. “Right. Now that that’s out of the way, I wanted to ask about something.”

“Go for it,” he shrugged before drinking the milk right out of the carton. It had been half-full when he’d picked it up and now it was drained. Jean was eyeing him. “What?”

“Okay, do you have any idea how _gross_ that is?”

“No. You were gonna ask somethin’?”

“How much do you remember about… when I opened your cage?”

Logan’s heart began hammering and he felt his eyes widen; a fear reaction. No, fear was bad, fear would get him into trouble. So he covered it with his rage. Crumpling the carton in his fist, Logan pegged it at her and stormed out of the kitchen without looking to see if it landed. He didn’t care if he’d hit her, actually he hoped he hadn’t, but there was no way in hell he was getting into that whole clusterfuck. Too many bad memories that he hadn’t worked out yet.

* * *

4.

 

“So, this will be a fairly easy process,” Charles explained. “Just read this and write down anything you know about yourself in the spaces on the sheet.”

Logan was handed the thin packet and a writing tool… plastic, capped. A pen. He didn’t remember using pens; at the logging camps they used pencils. It was unfamiliar in his hand, and looking at the first page of the forms didn’t help any. He handed it back to Charles with a disinterested shrug.

“Nothing? Nothing at all?” Logan just shrugged again, and then Charles got it. “You can’t read.”

“I can write my name,” he mumbled. “I can count money… most’a the time.”

“Yes, I see… very well, I can write it for you. So. What’s your last name?”

“Pretty sure ‘Logan’ is my last name,” he admitted. “Ain’t too sure what my first name is, though. Don’t remember.”

“How old are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Right. If not the year, do you know what day or month you were born?”

“Don’t know.”

It progressed like that for awhile. Eventually they realized they were getting nowhere with this and gave up.

“So now what?” Logan demanded, frustrated.

“We’ll come up with something,” Charles answered vaguely. His frown was thoughtful. “I don’t suppose you’d allow me to read your mind.”

“Don’t see what good it’d do,” he grunted. “What’re you gonna see that I don’t already know?”

“You might be surprised. Walk with me?”

“Don’t think that’s possible, there, Chuck.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Charles chuckled, rolling out from behind the desk. “I’m obviously not offering you a job, Logan, even if you had been able to fill in the form. But… I would very much like to have you here in any case.”

“Why?”

“Technically, it would be as a student. But, understand, this would be to your benefit, and I wouldn’t hold you to curfew or the same rules as the children. If you want to leave, you’re free to do so, but I really do want to help you, Logan. You’ve certainly more than earned it.”

“You gonna make me sit in class with a bunch’a thirteen-year-olds?” he scowled, holding open a door for the other man.

“Only sometimes. But our staff here are excellent, and we’ve had adult students before. You won’t look as out-of-place as you think.”

“So… how much do I gotta pay?”

“Absolutely nothing, my friend. You’ve already paid too high a price for your life.”

 

Jean was distracted, but not annoyed. Ordinarily she studied in the library, but today she’d chosen one of the rec rooms because Scott had made a good point - she was never with her friends these days, it seemed. He was across the table from her, a whole different pile of textbooks from the ones she had because he was going to become an English teacher of all things. He’d already grown up a lot in three years.

Kurt was the same age as them, but a grade behind after the turmoil he’d been through in Germany. Warren and Ororo were there, too, but they were still completing their primary education. There’d been some amount of animosity at the beginning after the fight with Apocalypse, but now Jean counted them as two of her closest friends. They weren’t bad people, after all. They’d been driven to do bad things by circumstance.

Jean’s mind started to itch - someone was thinking about her nearby. She brushed against Scott’s brain, but he was utterly focused despite the noise. None of the others, either, because they were all about the fact that Warren had just robbed them blind in their Monopoly game with his billion hotels. To add to the ruckus, his metal feathers were rattling a little in his excitement.

Two people outside the rec room - a very small girl, and a very strong man. _Logan._

Abandoning her studies for the moment, Jean looked outside to see Annie walking slowly next to him. She was in a state of delight, babbling on about some cartoon while gorging herself on a heaped bowl of ice cream. Logan, surprisingly, was hung on her every word. Given what little she knew of him, Jean was surprised he was letting the young telepath within clawing distance.

“I see you have yourself a fan,” she called out to them, smiling.

Logan whipped around with a yelp, then saw her and became… not relaxed, but less tense.

“Jesus! Don’t startle me like that, I could’a stabbed you,” Logan growled.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you _could_ be startled.” Jean grinned. “So she’s conned you into getting her ice cream, huh? She always does that when someone new comes here until they learn she’s not supposed to eat nearly as much of it as she asks for.”

“No, I know she ain’t s’posed to have it,” he smirked, scooping Annie up to his chest and drawing a shriek of laughter from the six-year-old. “But it makes her happy, and _somebody_ oughta be around here, right?” _And she ain’t afraid’a me like everyone else._

Logan hadn’t said that - Jean had caught the thought from him. “I’m not afraid of you,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Instantly the playful little grin inspired by the first-grader he was holding dropped from Logan’s face.

“What?”

“I-I’m not afraid of you, Logan,” Jean stammered. She shook her head, more at herself than at him. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I just don’t have very good control sometimes… I try so hard not to listen in on people’s thoughts but sometimes it just happens anyway, and… I’m just sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I’ll just go.”

“Wait,” Logan stopped her, reaching out a hand before she could even turn to go back into the rec room where her friends were. “I ain’t mad. Just never heard nobody say that to me. Everyone’s scared’a me, except her. And I guess you, now.”

“What about the professor?”

Logan gave a derisive huff through his nose. “Yeah, right. Somethin’ about me knocks him on his ass every time he sees me. I ain’t sure what it is, but I can damn well smell it on him. Don’t blame him none.” He made a face and gently deposited Annie onto the floor. “You go play now, kiddo, okay? I’mma come find you later with more ice cream.”

“Okay,” she agreed before running off.

“You’re good with her,” Jean observed. “Usually she won’t talk to anyone except for the professor. How’d you get her to open up?”

Logan chuckled and looked… oddly embarrassed. “So you want the honest truth? I was hidin’ in a corner and she found me by accident. We just sorta made friends on the spot.”

“Cute,” Jean smiled. “I hope you don’t throw milk cartons at _all_ your friends, though. She’s only six.”

“What now?”

“You threw a milk carton at me last night.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan grunted. “What’s that gotta do with Annie?”

“It was a joke. And I forgive you for throwing the milk carton. I wasn’t trying to upset you by asking about… _that._ ”

He shrugged.

“Just weren’t prepared. You wanna… talk?”

“I… sure. I can spare a few minutes.” They went outside and sat on the grass. “So what did Professor Xavier say?”

“Well, I’mma be a student now, I guess. Seein’ how I can’t read or nothin’, so I can’t really work a decent job. I don’t know if I wanna be a _student_ , though. He said it’ll take a long time.”

“Nothing worth having is easy, Logan.”

“Nothin’ worth havin’ is anythin’ I’ll ever get, kid.”

“I’m not a kid, I’m twenty years old.”

“Kid to me.”

“You look thirty,” Jean scoffed, which got a chuckle.

“Yeah, well… feel older. I ain’t even sure when I was born. Don’t talk the way you kids all talk.”

“You barely talk at all, so does that matter?”

“I just ain’t sure I feel right tryna learn things these kids learned before they even got to school. I lived okay up north, could go back to that.”

“You’ll be fine. You seem smart enough.”

“Nah, I ain’t really,” he countered. “Chuck said he wanted me here, though. So I guess that’s good even if I scare him.”

“Well, I’m not scared of you,” Jean repeated, just to see him smile again. It worked. “Are you scared of me?”

“Nope,” Logan answered. “You make me feel kinda weird sometimes, but not scared.”

“Weird how?”

“Don’t know. You smell familiar, I guess. More familiar than you should if we only met the one time.”

“Maybe you just really like the soap I use,” she joked, which drew a chuckle.

“Maybe. Maybe you just smell real nice all on your own,” Logan smirked.

“Are you making a pass at me?” she laughed.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “You’re pretty and stuff, why shouldn’t I?”

“Logan, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Scott: I’m not looking for a relationship right now and you still need to figure your life out before trying to make yourself a permanent fixture in mine. But thank you for the offer, I’m very flattered by it.”

“Damn, even the way you tell me to piss off is pretty,” Logan commented, cocking an eyebrow at her.

Jean couldn’t stop herself from blushing a little at that.

* * *

5.

 

As strange as he felt around Jean, Logan was always looking around for her and secretly hoping she was nearby. That bothered him more than a little bit; he didn’t want to be dependent on others, especially someone younger than him. When he’d made the suggestive comment to her the other day it had been mostly meant as a joke, and he figured she’d probably gotten that. She was smart. Logan would’ve been much more surprised if she’d _wanted_ some kind of connection with him, anyway. He wouldn’t date him, so why would anyone else think it was a good idea?

In any case, now it was him and Annie of all people, sitting at a table in a small classroom that was otherwise empty except for a teacher - Chuck had introduced her as Ms. Briggs. She was confident and friendly, and clearly used to dealing with young students like Annie, but Annie was practically attached to Logan at the hip and had been beside herself to hear that he was going to learn how to read in the same class as her. (“Now I don’t have to be the only one anymore!” Followed by much jumping and laughing and climbing all over him.)

It helped distract Logan from how stupid he felt by doing this. Annie knew a little more than him, and was usually trying to help _him_ sound out letters, but to any passerby who glanced in through the classroom window it looked like _he_ was there to provide _her_ with support.

Of course it didn’t help that Logan was left-handed, which was generally frowned upon in schools, apparently. When copying the letters on the worksheet, the side of his palm dragged through his sloppy work and smeared pencil dust across the lines. There had to be a better way to do this, he reasoned.

“This is dumb,” Logan muttered as he traced over the dotted lines to create the letters like a helpless child. Hell, there _was_ a child in the room with him, and Annie was already miles ahead of him on this. Maybe he should just give up on the whole fucking idea.

“You think bad words real loud, Logan,” Annie whispered as if the teacher wasn’t three feet away. “Why are you so mad?”

“’Cause I suck at this,” Logan whispered back, playing along and making her hide a giggle behind her hand.

At least his entire day wasn’t spent learning the fucking alphabet. While generally unable to participate, he sat in the back during other classes and listened to the discussions of whatever topic was brought up for the day. Science was the worst - he didn’t know what any of the words meant, he couldn’t measure anything except by guessing and the kids in that class were particularly insufferable. It made for a miserable 45 minutes of his afternoon.

Meals bothered him. Logan would usually slip into the cafeteria, grab whatever meat-substitute was being served, and bolt for the door to eat in his bedroom. He’d tried sitting in there like everyone else, but clouds of puberty pheromones from the teenaged hordes practically choked him, and even discounting _that_ little detail he could see and hear them staring at him and whispering. Most of them didn’t even know his name, but he terrified them.

He didn’t have to be around them all day, though. Charles did some work with Logan in the mornings, talking through his nightmares and trying to put together if any parts of them were based in truth. Often, Logan found himself saying he couldn’t remember anything from his dreams except that he’d been in pain and woke up screaming with his claws out. Sometimes, that was true. Other times it was because they were so terrible he couldn’t stomach trying to voice them.

 

Almost a month after Logan had joined them at the school, a gut feeling saw Jean looking for him instead of going to the library to do her homework the way she should’ve been doing. A knock on his door was only acknowledged by a grunt from within, but Jean took that to mean she could open it. He was tossing his things into his backpack.

“Going somewhere?”

“Back to Canada,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

“Why?” Jean didn’t get it; he wasn’t any less cranky than he’d been at the beginning, but he seemed to be getting along okay. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“Liar.”

“Just… I ain’t s’posed to be at a place like this,” Logan growled. His movements were written with frustration. “It was stupid for me to come here.”

In a bold gesture, Jean walked the rest of the way in and settled on the end of his bed. “Why do you think that?”

“’Cause. If I wanted to be around people that get scared’a me and run the other way, I would’a stayed workin’ construction in Edmonton,” he complained. “Plus I didn’t really need to know that six-year-olds’re smarter’n me. Could’a done without that info. I’m maybe thirty-somethin’ and can’t read, I don’t know my own fuckin’ name, and I can’t even…”

Jean waited quietly even after he’d stopped. It seemed the words had stuck in his throat, something he didn’t want to come out. By now he’d also sank down onto the bed, slouched forward and glaring at the floor.

“You can’t what, Logan?” Jean asked, frowning.

“I… I can’t look myself in the face when I shave,” he whispered. His voice didn’t seem to be his own, too broken for this strong and good-looking guy. “’Cause I seen wild animals look more human. I’m… it’s like in that story, about the thing sewed up from different body parts and that scientist brings it to life somehow. I’m like that monster, I got grown in a lab and people’re always gonna be scared’a me.”

Where to begin, Jean tried to decide. If he couldn’t read, how did he know the story of Frankenstein? He was grumpy and rough, but she’d seen actual monsters like Apocalypse (and herself) and he definitely wasn’t a monster, so what made him think that? Why did he think everyone was scared of him when he never bothered them?

“Maybe,” Jean ceded, “you are kind of like Frankenstein’s monster. But if you’ve heard the whole story, remember that he was lonely and just needed people to accept him for who he was. That sounds like you, too.” The look she got from Logan said he was trying very hard to reject that moral so he could stubbornly cling to his self-pity. Jean rolled her eyes at him. “Look. You can’t just give up right away. You’ve only been here for three and a half weeks, that’s not long enough for you to think you’re not getting anywhere. And if you don’t belong here, why would Professor Xavier ask you to come?”

“Well…”

Jean raised her eyebrows at him, which made him breathe out in a huff and then shake his head in defeat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Logan smirked a little, eyeing her sideways. “You’re too smart for me, kid.”

“Believe me, it’s a curse,” Jean told him dryly. “Come on, unpack your stuff. You’re not going anywhere.”

As she watched him grudgingly put his few belongings into his closet, she thought about his other complaints and got an idea. Maybe she could help him out a little…

“There, you happy?” Logan grumbled when he’d finished.

“Not really, being pre-med is really stressful,” Jean deadpanned. “Here, hold still.”

His eyes flashed with emotion as her fingers came to his temples, and then she was feeling around in his mind. It was all a jumble and it was hurting her to try, but she found it… there. He’d just needed someone else to dig it up for him.

Jean slid back out and almost fell as she opened her eyes. Logan was breathing hard for a moment and then gave her a concerned frown: “You’re bleedin’.”

“Oh…” She wiped her upper lip. “Yeah, that happens. It’s okay.”

“What’d you do to me?” he whispered.

“Here,” Jean offered, going to his closet and retrieving one of his battered shirts. She flipped the tag out from under the collar. “Look.”

Logan glanced at it, then at her, then looked at the tag again for a long moment. “How…?”

“I kind of figured you _do_ know how to read,” Jean smiled, “you just forgot.”

A sudden mind-flare, but it was in her own head. She winced and sat back down on the bed, trying to force it down again. _No. Not right now, not ever. You won’t get out._

“Jean?” She barely crammed Phoenix back into its box and looked again - Logan’s big hands were on her shoulders and he was staring worriedly into her face. “What just happened?”

“N-nothing,” she stammered, not really sure how to explain it to him. He didn’t need to be burdened by the thing that made her terrified of herself and her own powers. “It happens sometimes, but… it’s normal.”

Logan seemed to know that Jean was lying, but he didn’t try to press the issue further. He just let go of her shoulders and busied himself by putting the shirt away, which she’d dropped on the floor. After that she just took him to the library with her. Now that he’d remembered written language, Jean watched him paw through several shelves of books before sitting at one of the tables and arranging her homework. When she looked up again, Logan was settled across from her engrossed in a poetry book of all things. They sat in companionable silence, each absorbed in their own activity until Jean finished with her textbooks just after 11:00.

She rested her forehead on her arms for just a moment, fully intent on hauling her school books up to her room and going to bed. So, it was extremely surprising when she was woken up by her alarm clock the next morning, on top of her bed and still in yesterday’s clothes. Her textbooks were piled on the mattress next to her and it didn’t take much for her to figure out that Logan had carried her up. There was no reason for that man to think of himself as a monster.

* * *

6.

 

Summer. Logan didn’t like summer - too hot, too many bugs, people everywhere, too much daylight making it harder to hide. He liked to be cold as a rule.

A few weeks back had been the definition of mass hysteria for the many young residents of Charles’ school, yammering on about ‘finals’ (whatever the hell that meant). Now, at least, many of them had gone home for the summer and so despite the heat and the bugs and the lack of shadows it was generally peaceful, which was a relief for him.

The prospect of violence was also introduced to him. Not that it was a new concept, but now Logan had been told much more about these vigilante X-Men. Hank had invited him to sit in the control room and observe them this morning during one of their training exercises, and he had to admit they were at least mildly impressive. All of them, moving as a cohesive unit, playing to each other’s strengths and bolstering each other’s weaknesses.

They warmed up with a simple scenario for the first fifteen minutes, then moved on to a more difficult one. Logan couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other because the danger room had been thoroughly soundproofed, but it seemed like things were going well. He’d felt himself bristling when their opponents looked exactly like the soldiers who’d been holding him captive, but then one of that gay kid’s eye-blasts speared a trooper through the chest and it was revealed to be some kind of projection.

Things seemed to be going well down there, at least from Logan’s point of view. It was highly amusing to watch Stryker’s goons get the living shit beat out of them by a bunch of college kids. Their current scenario was set up to be an urban conflict, and he wasn’t sure if this was something they actually expected to encounter or if the gray-uniformed thugs were just stand-ins for any human military threat.

Then, without provocation that Logan could see, Jean sort of… pulsed with ghostly flames. All the simulated enemy troops fell down ‘dead’ and the training exercise was cut short. He kept watching in confusion through the window as the others shrank away from her a little, clearly terrified. That made no sense to him - if she’d downed all their opponents so easily, that seemed like it should count as a win. Despite the distance, though, Logan figured out that Jean was even more upset by this than they were, and that only baffled him more.

The whole illusion dissolved in the round chamber below and the X-Men filed out, except for Jean; she just sank to the floor and curled up with her head on her knees. Logan felt bothered by that, somehow, so he left the control room and went in to see if she needed help or for her friends to come back or something.

“You okay, kid?” Jean didn’t say anything, and in fact was shaking a little. Logan crouched next to her and rested a hand on her back. “What happened?”

“I’m not supposed to let it out unless I really have to,” she whispered, the words muffled in her arms. “I just… I slipped.”

“Really? That weren’t on purpose just now? Looked pretty good from where I was standin’.”

“No,” Jean protested. “It’s too powerful. It could destroy all of us and this whole place, and I don’t know if I can keep controlling it the way I have been. It’s going to keep getting free and putting everyone in danger.”

“Uh…” Logan was in over his head with this. “So back up, what is ‘it?’”

“Phoenix. It’s so strong, Logan, that maybe it could even kill _you._ It wants to get out. It has a mind of its own and I’ve been trying to hold it in but…”

“This about your powers?” he inquired, which finally got her to look at him.

“Kind of,” Jean answered. There was fear in her gaze and tears threatening to spill, which made him hurt for her a little. “Sometimes I have just a normal amount of power. Other times I make things go flying across the room and I can’t keep everyone else’s thoughts out of my head. I have nightmares about it.”

They said nothing for a long time, just fixed in their positions on the metal floor of the danger room. Logan was bothered by the things she’d said, and apparently she picked up on that.

“Now you’re afraid of me, too.”

“What? No, why should I be? I’m the one people’re afraid of.”

“No.” Jean shook her head. “Everyone’s scared of me, too. They know I could hurt them.”

“Seems like you’re hurtin’ yourself, kid.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “I don’t want to hurt other people, but it might happen. And sometimes I’m so distracted that Phoenix almost gets out. Being an X-Man and being pre-med and I’m worried about Scott and I’m worried about you and… sometimes it’s just too much.”

Jean was starting to cry, now. Logan sighed internally and also sat, resting his hand on her back because he thought maybe that was something you did to make other people feel less sad.

“Why’re you worried about that Scott guy?”

“Because he’s… well, you pointed it out without even knowing him, but I suspected for some time. I’m worried he can’t accept himself, and we’ve been friends for a couple of years, now. I want him to be okay.”

“This’s gonna sound selfish, but don’t you think that’s his problem? Whether he ain’t okay bein’ the way he is seems like somethin’ he should be tryn’a figure out, not you. There ain’t a damn thing you can really do for that, neither. And if you ain’t really sure’a your powers right now, maybe you should take a break from the whole X-Men thing until you’re more sure’a them. Your school seems real important to you, so… maybe you should just try to work on that for now and not try to fix other people. And don’t worry about me, ’cause there ain’t a damn thing you can do to help me, neither. Nobody can, so you shouldn’t waste your energy tryna do it anyway.”

“But I want to help you,” she protested, wiping her eyes on her hand.

Logan snorted. “Jean. You gotta just take my word for it on this, kid. _I ain’t important,_ okay? You got way bigger and better things to deal with. You’re gonna be a doctor, right? You can help way more people if you get that done, you know. I shouldn’t be on nobody’s priority list.”

He tried to put his concern for her in the front of his mind - there were things she didn’t need to know about him, because they would just upset her more on his behalf. Jean didn’t need to know that he’d almost stabbed a teacher who’d tried to stand behind him once. She didn’t need to know that Logan’s nightmares were so bad that he had a plastic tarp under his sheets because he’d pissed the bed more than once. She didn’t need to know that he cried himself to sleep every night, and that when he woke up every morning he was still crying even as he was screaming and stabbing before his eyes had the chance to open.

Jean didn’t need to know about Logan’s time in the holding cell before the metal had been put in him.

Swallowing around words that wouldn’t come out, Logan gently pulled Jean to her feet and they made their way out of the basement for breakfast. He didn’t think she’d been listening to his thoughts. He hoped she hadn’t, anyway… she didn’t need to know those things about him.

* * *

7.

 

 _Oh for God’s sake, Logan, just fall asleep on the couch like you so obviously want to,_ Jean thought to herself as she watched him force open his drooping eyes for the hundredth time. She didn't understand, at all, why he seemed so terrified of drifting off where he was.

Maybe she'd been influencing him without meaning to, or maybe his exhaustion had finally gotten the better of him, because a few minutes later Logan was limp in the corner of the couch. The only sounds in the room were the low volume of the kids’ movie Annie was watching on the VCR and Jean’s pencil scratching across her notebook. Just because it was summer didn’t mean she was free from scientific chores, but at least in this case it was a relatively simple assignment from Hank to keep her from getting rusty before classes started again.

With absolutely no reason for doing so and equally as much warning, Annie jumped off of the couch and away from Logan with a terrified howl. His claws were shooting out of his knuckles and he was leaping up with a savage bellow, less than a second later than she’d run from him. It was only her telepathy that had saved her from being speared on his blades.

Jean almost didn’t see any of this, either, because when it happened she was pitching out of her chair with her head in her hands and blood gushing from her nose. The blunt trauma of this sudden projection was like getting punched directly to the brain, raw emotion without threads of thought or memory. Later, thinking about it, Jean wouldn’t understand how it wasn't rage in Logan’s mind - only crippling, unmistakable fear.

By the time Jean could uncross her eyes and sit up off the floor, Logan was nowhere to be found, leaving her with inexplicable tears rolling down and a bawling 7-year-old in the corner.

What had just happened to them?

Shocked and trying as hard as she could not to panic, Jean was at such a loss about how she should react that she just psychically called to Professor Xavier so that he could come to them and fix things. He would know what to do. He always did, somehow.

She tried to wipe her face, succeeding only to smear tears and blood across her hands and cheeks, and watched silently when Hank and the professor charged into the room. They took care of Annie first, of course, who utterly refused to be calmed down and ended up being led away by Hank for a walk somewhere. That left Xavier with Jean.

“Where’s Logan?” were the first words out of her mouth once she’d found her voice again.

“His room. No, Jean, don’t. Give him at least a few minutes, he’s had a terrible fright.”

“Why? What happened?”

“He remembers things in his nightmares that trouble him and all he knows is violence. We gave him one of the soundproofed rooms on purpose, actually, and it also has a layer of psychic dampening material so that his night terrors don’t disturb any of us who have telepathic abilities. I work with Logan on a daily basis to try and rationalize his problems, but progress is virtually unheard of most days, I’m afraid.”

“Do you think there’s anything I can do to help him?” Jean immediately questioned, not stopping to think if it would actually be a good idea for her to get involved.

“Actually, you help him more than he lets on,” Xavier informed her with a minute smile. “Nobody else relates to Logan the way you do. He feels accepted and understood in your presence, which I suspect is the reason he drifted off outside of his room. I don’t believe he would’ve allowed himself to in any other circumstance.”

“That’s good,” Jean sighed, feeling a little relieved. “He seems like he needs some reassurance sometimes.”

“It’s not reassurance,” the professor countered. “It’s comfort.”

 

Logan all but threw himself into his shower, clothes still on, and immediately set it to blast him with freezing cold water. His whole body shook horribly, but not from the temperature. He just really fucking hated himself and he was really fucking sad. He could’ve hurt a little kid.

A little kid.

“FUCK!” Logan roared at nobody, beating himself in the face with both fists for a moment before his knees gave and he crashed to the floor in a heap, sobbing pitifully. “Fuck, fuck, no, I can’t… not again… oh, fuck…”

He clawed at his head with his fingertips, screaming incoherently against the noise of the water and rocking himself…

...until, despite all that, he heard someone walking slowly into his bedroom outside the door.

“Fuck off!” Logan barked, not knowing who it was or why they’d come and not fucking caring, either. “Get fuckin’ lost!”

Nobody needed to see this. He couldn’t be viewed like this, and then have whoever it was always look at him with pity. He was a man, after all, he should’ve taken care of this shit by now. He just needed to get his worthless ass in gear and fix things. Yes. It was so simple like that and he knew it, he was just a fucking idiot who hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

He heard whoever it was leave, closing the door behind them, and once they had he forced himself to stop the pathetic shivering. Logan was too strung by that point to give a shit, so instead of fighting with his sodden apparel he just sliced it free with his claws before haphazardly drying himself with a scratchy towel. Still damp in patches, especially the thicker areas of hair, Logan pulled on boxers and sweatpants before lying down on his bed.

The door opened again.

“Thought I told you to piss the fuck off,” he snarled, then looked and felt himself deflate when it turned out to be Jean. “Ah, shit… sorry. Thought you were… sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, smiling so kindly at him that it just made him hurt more. “I know you’re having a rough night. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Don’t go,” Logan begged before his brain could catch up with his mouth and stop him. “Don’t… don’t go. Please.”

“Okay,” Jean nodded. She sat on the side of his bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk at all?”

“Not really.”

“Okay,” she repeated, tentatively reaching out to give his bare shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Feeling somewhat grounded by the gesture, Logan tried his hardest to relax into the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. He had a completely random sensation of deja vu then, as if there was another time she’d been at his bedside caring for him even though he knew it had never happened before. He put it down to his brain really just being that fucked up.

And God, he didn’t want to fall asleep.

Not with Jean here. Logan felt sick and ashamed at the idea of her seeing how bad it really was for him, with the crying and the screaming and of course the need for the plastic layer under his sheets. It was bad enough that Xavier knew these things about him, he couldn’t rationalize letting Jean in on those secrets. She’d be afraid of him, like everyone else, or - even worse - she’d start to pity him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as for Logan calling Scott a f*****, this is my alternate universe and I'm having Scott be gay in it. Here's why: the typical "love triangle" you think of in writing is my least favorite trope EVER, and I'm sick to fucking death of it, so I'm using this as a way around it. Also, before political correctness became a thing in the 90s, people really would just use this word the way "the N word" was used before the civil rights movements. One last thing on this topic, I AM GAY, so don't think I'm putting the word in there out of bigotry. I'm trying to be accurate to the time period they're in.
> 
> Also, please leave comments and stuff. I crave feedback.


	2. 1990.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The terrible spelling in Logan's letter are on purpose.
> 
> Trigger warning for mentions of sexual abuse and suicidal thoughts in this chapter.

8.

 

Jean had read and reread his last letter more than twenty times.

 

_Hey kid_

_Chuk sent me out to find somone. Sending this from Ohio. Hopfuly be back wen you get home. Sory I cant make your graduation. So now your a real doctor good job. Just so long you dont try picking apart guys like me youl be fine._

_Anser your question nightmars been the same. Stil not as bad as wen I first got here but prety bad. I think if they been hapning this long theyr never going to stop._

_Anser your other question that chick I met in the bar didnt dump me. I met her and boned her. Nothing to dump._

_Logan_

 

She’d known from this that he may still be away on his mission when she got back to Salem Center after graduating, but the fact that it had ended up being the case was still disappointing. Jean had rarely gotten to see him outside of summer break, because medical school demanded her to live on-campus, and Logan was her closest friend (except maybe for Scott, but even Scott was still afraid of her).

Still, Jean was in high spirits. She was back home at the Xavier school, she’d gotten her medical degree at age twenty-four-and-a-half. That was no small feat. Logan should at least be home soon, Jean reasoned, and she could brag about it to him. She would be sending out her application to nearby hospitals over the next couple of days, but that was nothing to stress over until she actually started getting responses.

Jean went around to see her friends, getting a series of “welcome home”s and hugs. Even that one burn mark in the corner of her bedroom ceiling they couldn’t completely paint over was a great sight - medical school, or rather the overwhelmingly stressful circle of Hell that disguised itself as medical school, was finally over and Jean could begin her life as an adult.

After putting away her things, Jean tucked all of her friends’ letters into the drawers of her desk. She’d gotten more than a few of them over the last four years, so the final semester’s collection was now added to the others. The main reason for this was because she’d never had time for phone calls, but a letter could be started and then picked back up later if her attention had to be directed elsewhere. The three who’d written her the most were Scott, Ororo, and of course Logan.

In spite of the fact that Logan could barely write coherent sentences and his letters tended to be less than a page long, he’d sent more to her than Scott and Ororo combined. Logan had written to Jean at least once a week, always answering whatever questions she had for him and usually asking a couple of his own just on the principle that he liked talking to her. And that made Jean feel good about herself - she talked to him and wrote to him as if he was anyone else, a normal guy whose friend was away for higher education and wasn’t scared of his claws.

Somewhere along the line, Jean had discovered that Logan had a thing about Polaroids. Because so much of his life had been blanked out of his head, he was compulsed to keep photographs of almost everything and everyone he deemed important for fear of losing those memories. It was completely irrational, but Jean couldn’t help feeling bad for the fact that Logan was that way, so whenever she’d been home for a vacation or her birthday she’d taken pictures with him so that he could do whatever it was he actually did once he’d been given them. She thought of him taping them to his ceiling or something and smiled a little.

Actually, she’d made sure to get plenty taken of her graduation this week for that reason. Logan hadn’t missed it on purpose, of course, but he’d written before that mission about how he’d been somewhat interested in going to see it (despite his severe agoraphobia and social anxiety). He’d wanted to go just because she was his friend and he knew it was important to her, no matter how much it probably would’ve scared him.

With that thought in her head, Jean opened the paper envelope and shuffled through the expensive color photographs to pick out the best five or six of her during the ceremony. She dug up a piece of notebook paper and carefully folded it around the Polaroids, securing it with Scotch tape and then scrawling _For Logan_ across one side.

His bedroom was locked, but she’d telekinetically picked the door before and he’d said he didn’t mind and that she could come in whenever she needed to. Logan’s room was as depressingly empty as the last time she’d been here a few months back, no artwork on the walls or personal effects in the bookcase. There were a couple collections of poetry on one shelf - Jean had witnessed him repeatedly borrowing them from the school’s library and had got him his own copies for Christmas - and an encyclopedia of knives, which some malicious student had given him in lieu of a middle finger. (Logan had needed to be held back by Jean and Hank both to stop him from attacking the kid.) Jean wasn’t sure why he had even kept that book.

Interestingly, though, there seemed to be a stack of plastic binders on his otherwise bare desk, and a pile next to it. Moving closer, Jean smiled when she realized they were photo albums, and the pile was simply the Polaroids she’d given him which he hadn’t organized yet. Flipping briefly through the albums, her grin widened at the level of precision and care he’d put into ordering them. She set the new packet next to the stack of pictures to be added and kept poking through.

The binder at the bottom, though, wasn’t a photo album.

Instead, this one had every single letter she’d sent him from medical school - all easily looped onto the rings because they’d been written on notebook paper. They were all in the order Logan had received them, smooth other than the fold lines from being mailed. Interestingly, there were scribbles in the margins - Logan’s illegible scrawl making short notes to himself how he intended to respond in his own letters. It was a little distressing to realize that his brain simply couldn’t retain that information long enough for him to compose a half-page letter, but the attention he’d paid to her ramblings made her warm on the inside. It was a very bittersweet feeling.

“Y’know, if you’re gonna be in here, I kinda wish you’d at least close the door behind you,” Logan rumbled. Jean almost jumped out of her skin. “Don’t want other people thinkin’ it’s okay for them to be in here.”

“Jesus, Logan! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Jean practically screamed, whipping around to be even more startled when he was all of two inches away from where she’d been standing. “I’d like to live long enough to at least begin my career, you know!”

He just snorted, lightly plucking the binder from her hand and tucking it back under the photo albums.

“Just got back,” Logan offered. This was the most conversational he ever really got, so it must be a good day. His eyes landed on the little packet by his pile of photos: “You got more for me?”

“Of course,” Jean smiled, scooping it up and handing it to him. “How was your mission?”

“Standard,” Logan shrugged, pulling apart the folded sheet of paper and taking a look.

“Well, aren’t _we_ talkative.”

“Shut up,” he smirked, glancing back at her before carefully setting the newest additions onto his desk. “You’ll make a nice steak if you get too annoyin’.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jean deadpanned, dropping heavily into his chair while he pulled off his grubby plaid shirt to throw on a fresh one. “So the rest of my friends gave me hugs or got me presents for graduating, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Logan muttered absently, rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

“I know you didn’t get me anything, though,” she continued. She tried to be cautious with her words, because she wasn’t looking for a present from Logan - actually Hank had made a request of her regarding the feral mutant. “So I’ll just settle for you eating dinner with me in the cafeteria.”

“Pass,” Logan grunted, still not even bothering to meet her eyes. Under the nonchalance, though, Jean was already sensing unease creeping into his thoughts. He’d made a lot of progress since they’d first brought him here, but still refused to eat with others and repeatedly told Professor Xavier not to let anyone live in the rooms near his. Aside from Logan, the entire hall was uninhabited. “We can get drive-thru if you want, though.”

“Sure, I can go for really bad fast food. Just let me go put on shoes.”

After a quick trip to McDonald’s in Logan’s beat-to-shit Jeep Renegade, they sat with greasy burgers on the back lawn of the mansion. Jean was eating a normal human’s portion with a Coke, while Logan was inhaling about six Big Macs and a pile of fries to rival the Adirondacks that was swimming in ketchup. Instead of ordering a drink, he’d also stopped at a convenience store for a box of cheap beer. Even six or seven feet apart from each other, Jean could smell how bad that crap must be to make Logan keep grimacing as he shotgunned cans of it.

It bothered Jean a little that she couldn’t convince him to just eat in the cafeteria like a normal person. Her specialty was internal medicine, not psychiatry, but she couldn't help thinking that after more than four years Logan should be doing better than he was.

* * *

9.

 

Logan was trying very hard to keep his claws in as he browsed the photos Jean had brought for him. All he could think about was how much he’d been forced to lie to her.

He’d written to her constantly, as much as he could (which wasn’t a whole hell of a lot, considering that words just weren’t his strong point), and sometimes told her about the benders he’d gone on. In reality, sex had very rarely ended successfully for Logan. If he found a chick in a bar he could stomach the thought of bedding, the humiliating reality was that he’d usually have a panic attack and not get to finish. Sometimes he didn’t even get to start.

Taping the next Polaroid carefully into the album, Logan frowned deeply at it - Jean had dragged him over to her group of friends and made him pose with them for the shot. He was tensed up and scowling at the camera, and the kids had teased him for being camera-shy. The truth was that he didn’t like standing close to people. He was strong and fast and of course he was never unarmed, but if enough guys piled on top of him at once they could bring him down and do what they wanted.

But Jean liked giving him pictures, and it made him feel better to have them, so Logan had agreed. Her hand was on his arm, and where the other kids were grinning and whooping at Peter Maximoff as he took the picture… Jean was smiling at him.

“Logan?”

The knock came a second later.

“It’s open,” he tossed over his shoulder. He was placing the next photo on the page as Jean came in. “You need somethin’?”

“I just brought you this,” she answered.

“Well… why?” Logan questioned as a picture frame was placed in his hands.

“Because your room is empty and it’s depressing,” she told him matter-of-factly. “Here, pick a couple of your favorites, I have a second one.”

“Don’t feel like it,” he grumbled. “Don’t want people lookin’ at my stuff.”

“Sure. What’s the real reason?”

“’Cause it’ll make you a target,” Logan ground out. “Someday, people’re comin’ after me, and they’ll attack you to get me. The pictures are for me, not them. Don’t want nobody seein’ them.”

“Just one?” she prodded, and he lost his patience.

“No! Not even one!” Logan shouted, slamming the cover of the album closed and making his desk rattle. “Not even one, you understand? It only takes one! Only takes one’a anythin’ for them to get me.”

Jean sighed without replying, but she didn’t look angry with him, just discouraged. That was almost enough to change his mind on its own, which only made Logan angrier at himself.

“It’s okay, I won’t force you,” Jean told him eventually. Her hand was resting on the back of his and it was soothing, somehow. “I just want to help you, Logan.”

“I know,” he whispered, squeezing her fingers slightly before pulling away and slumping down into his chair. “Not tryn’a be mean or nothin’.”

“It’s okay.” Jean’s smile as she sat at his desk was too kind and too forgiving. “Professor Xavier said you’re not really telling him anything lately, can you tell me about it instead?”

“Don’t want to,” Logan refused. “You’re better off not knowin’, trust me.”

“Nothing about you will ever scare me,” she offered. “The only thing I’m afraid of is myself, and you know that.”

“I just…” Logan swallowed and thought briefly. “He don’t get it, that’s all. Doesn’t understand. He’s lookin’ in at me from somewhere out in the world, but I’m still trapped no matter what. Can’t escape the nightmares, or the memories. Or… he said I have, uh, ‘delusions.’ Where reality breaks for me or somethin’. I’m just stuck with those.”

“What happens when you have delusions?”

“I ain’t even sure that’s what they are,” Logan confessed. “It’s like… that feelin’, you seen this or done this before, but it ain’t true.”

“Deja vu,” Jean supplied.

“Yeah. Except it ain’t somethin’ I’m doin’, it’s like… I sorta remember somethin’ for a second and then it’s gone.”

“What do you remember?”

“You won’t believe me,” Logan shook his head.

“I always believe you,” Jean countered. “I always believe you and I always trust you, okay? So what do you remember?”

“You,” he admitted. “But you’re… I’m just sittin’ there, and holdin’ onto you, and… and I think you’re dead. Except, uh, you look calm. I never seen nobody die lookin’ calm.”

“I see,” Jean nodded, her voice quiet. She seemed to be thinking. “This isn’t a new problem for you.”

“What?”

“When I helped you get free way back then, when I was reading your mind, I remember seeing something similar. But it was weird, like it wasn’t really part of your memories. More like someone else had been in your head and had left it there by accident on their way out.”

“You think someone’s been in there besides you and Chuck?”

“Maybe. It’s the only explanation I can come up with. I won’t ask about the physical stuff, but… did they ever try to brainwash you, or use psychological methods?”

“Don’t remember,” he lied. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” Jean sighed. Logan got the feeling she knew he was holding back even though she wasn’t using her gifts on him right then. “You know, for what it’s worth, you killed everyone in that place. I don’t think there’s anyone left who could come looking for you.”

“I don’t wanna risk it,” he growled. “They’d go after you to get me.”

“I can protect myself,” she smirked. “You’ve seen me in the Danger Room, remember?”

“You ain’t gonna shut up about this, are you?”

“That’s up to you,” Jean shrugged, still grinning.

“God dammit, fine,” he ceded.

Logan flipped through his albums to look for a couple he liked best; one was of them posing in their team uniforms, and the other was just sitting side-by-side on the couch.

“I like it,” she remarked, sliding the Polaroids into the frames and arranging them on the back of his desk. “You’ll feel a little safer here if it looks more like your home, you know.”

“But I ain’t safe,” Logan argued. “I prob’ly never will be.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” Jean teased, poking his arm.

“Sure you will, kid,” he snorted.

 

Of course this wasn’t unusual, but that night Jean dreamed of fire.

She woke up sweating and breathing hard, her limbs tingling and her brain itchy. Every scrap of paint had been stripped from the walls, flakes and pieces scattered across the floor along the baseboards. All the furniture had been shoved back from the bed, dumping her books off their shelves and tipping her desk onto its back. The glass in all her picture frames was shattered and the window was webbed with cracks.

“Dammit,” Jean whispered, rubbing her face with her palms. At least nothing had started burning this time; it was sad that this fact could be considered a good sign in her state of being, that she hadn’t accidentally set her bedroom on fire in her sleep. “Dammit.”

Mindful of the glass, Jean carelessly dressed herself and left her disaster scene for breakfast. It was early enough that only the teachers were up, as well as the few students who simply didn’t sleep as part of their mutations. And, of course, the man who fit neither of those categories.

“Mornin’,” Logan grunted as she entered the kitchen. He sniffed. “You been burnin’ shit?”

“Not for lack of trying,” Jean muttered dryly. “I managed not to burn the mansion down this time.”

Logan turned from where he was shredding steak strips into his hot cereal and looked at her, heedless of the meat juice dribbling down his claws. “You okay, kid?”

“I’m about the same as always,” she shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee and fixing some strawberry instant oatmeal. She rubbed seeds from her eyes as she stirred. “It’s nothing, Kurt always helps me repaint afterwards. He’ll have time this afternoon once his class is let out.”

It was the last week of school for the kids here, and the end of Kurt’s first year teaching. Kurt was a gentle and intelligent man, so the experience had been rewarding for him and his pupils.

Logan was raising an eyebrow at her, now, one of his subtler expressions. “You want me to just do it for you?” he offered slowly.

“Since when are _you_ the helpful and generous one?” Jean smirked, eyeing him. She couldn’t help smiling for real after a second, though. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Sure,” he grunted, returning to his breakfast.

After they’d eaten, Logan followed Jean back to her room with several cans of paint. Originally it had been wallpapered, but after it kept catching on fire they gave up and settled for cheap paint until the day came when her powers were better controlled. So far, that hadn’t happened.

“Some mess you got here,” Logan remarked with a low whistle of contemplation. He flicked out a claw, using the blunt top edge to pop the cover free of the first can. “And I thought _my_ nightmares were bad.”

Jean sighed, trying not to be embarrassed. This was Logan - he was one of her best friends, she was virtually the only one he’d ever let close to him - in short, he never judged her. But she still detested her lack of control.

“This doesn’t happen all the time,” Jean offered, dipping her brush in and getting to work. “You should’ve seen it the first time I almost burned it down.”

Logan snorted, but it was amused, not derisive. “That’s rough. If it makes you feel better, there ain’t any plaster left over my headboard. We patched it a couple’a times, but after the third or fourth night, just gave up.” He huffed a self-depreciating chuckle. “One time I caught one’a the electrical wires when I was flailin’ around in my sleep. That was a fun way to wake up.”

“Maybe we should both invest in metal rooms,” she joked.

“I can cut through plate steel.” Logan shook his head. “Just glad Chuck didn’t made me share a room with nobody. I ain’t safe to sleep around, y’know?”

“Me neither,” Jean agreed. She almost dropped her paintbrush because her hands were starting to shake, and she swallowed hard. “Maybe I never will be.”

She was trying to choke back the tears - the dreams of fire were in her mind’s eye, remembering the yellow destruction and belching smoke. Nobody was safe with her around… maybe not even Logan, and he healed from anything, supposedly.

Before Jean even knew anything had changed, she was folded into something hard but warm. Logan’s strong arms were pressing her to his torso, and Jean immediately felt a hundred times safer than she had in weeks.

“You… wanna talk about it?” he struggled.

“I’m just scared of myself,” Jean mumbled into his shirt. She closed her eyes and just relaxed into him. He was secure and more comforting than she’d have ever imagined. “I bet I’m strong enough to kill anything, even if I don’t mean to. Maybe even you. Or… or maybe the whole world if I lose control. And being scared all the time is so exhausting. I just need a break.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice unusually gentle and understanding. She felt his embrace tighten a little. “But I never been scared’a you, Jean. I don’t think you’d hurt nobody neither.”

“Thank you, Logan.” Jean smiled, even knowing he couldn’t see it with her face hidden in his chest. “You’re a good friend.”

“Not really,” he shrugged, finally letting go. He brushed the stray tear off her cheek with his thumb, then looked unsure of himself and hurried back to his can of paint. “But, y’know, you always try to help me, so… feel like I should return the favor when I can.”

* * *

10.

 

Logan was eating three pounds of barely-cooked bacon when he instinctively recoiled against the wall. Ready to attack whoever was approaching, he was surprised and more than a little distressed to see Jean stumble into the kitchen and fall into the nearest chair. She’d been gone for two days, her first shift at her new job, and to say she was a rumpled mess would nearly be a compliment. There was still some mild blood spatter on her blue hospital shirt.

“You smell like my nightmares,” Logan remarked bluntly. He wrinkled his nose. “Couldn’t you change or somethin’?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Jean immediately burst into tears and buried her face in her folded arms. He swallowed back his revolted feelings about the chemical-medical stench on her clothes and forced himself to sit beside her, resting a palm on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jean sobbed, not raising her face. “I know it scares you… but I just got home, and I haven’t eaten, and I need to sleep, and… oh my God, Logan, I might’ve been exposed, he bled all over me…!”

“Jesus,” Logan murmured. “Okay, first, way you smell ain’t your fault. Second, here, have as much as you want.” He reached over and set his plate in front of her, and the aroma of bacon was probably what coaxed her to look up and reach for a piece. He watched her nibble at it briefly before continuing. “Once you’re fed and clean, go to bed, okay? I can even stand guard outside your room, make sure nobody bothers you.”

Jean almost laughed, but then started crying again.

“I have to… I have to let Hank take samples… I could’ve been infected.”

“Huh? Infected with what?”

“Um… my internship is in the emergency department, and this guy was brought in… I got covered in his blood. They ran all the usual tests, and… he had HIV.”

“Damn. Okay. It’s okay, you’re gonna be fine,” Logan told her, even though he wasn’t sure. He knew nothing about shit like this except that his mutation meant he couldn’t catch it. “We’ll get you to Hank, he’ll make sure you don’t get sick.”

Logan abandoned his attempt at breakfast and tried to be gentle as he lifted Jean out of the chair. He ended up banging on Hank’s door until the furball yelled through it that he’d be down as soon as he was dressed, then led Jean to the lab. Every part of him screamed not to set foot in that chemically-disinfected deathtrap of tile and glass, but the tiny logical area of his brain knew that Jean needed help.

While they waited for Hank, Logan scrounged up some kind of cloth and soaked it in a sink. Jean was just sitting immobile on the table, tears running down but keeping silent. Logan wiped her hands and forearms, then her face and under her chin. The rest of the blood was on her scrubs.

“Jean? What happened?” came Hank’s sleepy voice as the blue-furred mutant entered the room.

“She got splashed with blood,” Logan answered instead. “Guy had AIDS, apparently.”

“I see. Jean… Jean, can you look at me, please?” It was a moment before she obeyed. “Did any of the blood get into your eyes or your mouth?”

“N-no.”

“Do you have any open cuts in your skin?”

“No.”

“Good. Let me look you over just to be sure, alright?”

“Okay.”

Logan waited in the hall, relieved to be out of the lab and its terrible stink. He flexed his wrists and the claws snapped out, but he just looked at them, not intending to destroy anything or kill anyone. He didn’t know this feeling - it wasn’t familiar, and that made it unsafe, so he ignored it and forced the claws back into his arms.

Logan’s instincts were screaming something to him, but it was part of that dangerous and unknown feeling, so he pushed it back for the first time in as long as he could remember. He almost never ignored his gut, but this time he had no choice. He didn’t understand, so he couldn’t follow it.

Finally, Hank and Jean emerged.

“And it’ll help?” she was questioning.

“Well, it’s a new medication, it came out in ’87, but it’s very promising. You’ll take it for a month and we’ll test your blood. You may feel sick while taking it, but those are just side-effects and nothing you need to worry about.”

“Thanks,” Jean nodded.

“Remember, you can speak with me at any time.”

“I know.”

“Good. Now, go get some rest. Your next shift starts tonight, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah.”

Logan followed her as she began heading back to her bedroom. He didn’t know why he was doing it, though, because he’d told that section of brain to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.

“You gonna be okay goin’ back to work?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice not to be okay with it?” Jean muttered bitterly. “I’m an intern and it’s my first week. I better get used to being exposed to deadly immunodeficient pathogens and getting stepped on by the more experienced doctors if I want to get a good residency next year.”

“Hey, you don’t gotta do this,” Logan argued, surprising them both when he stopped and grabbed her arm. “You really wanna work in a place that’s tryna get your ass killed?”

“What else can I do?” Jean shrugged, defeated and overwhelmed. Logan found he didn’t have an answer and forced himself to release her wrist. “I’ve worked so long and so hard for this. I can’t give up now.”

“I get that, kid… just don’t want you gettin’ hurt, alright? I know you like helpin’ people, but sometimes you gotta take care’a yourself. You know that, right?”

“It’s okay, Logan,” Jean insisted in an unconvincing and exhausted tone.

“No, this ain’t okay.” He was walking after her, now, talking louder. “And I won’t shut up about it until it is. So for fuck’s sake, kid, even if you just want me to shut my trap, take care’a yourself at least a little.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “I need to take care of… of my patients, now. I have patients.”

“No, fuck them, don’t you get it?” Logan snarled. “I _need_ for you to be alright! I can’t be alright if you’re not alright, you understand?”

The words were out before he could think about them, and now they’d stopped in the hall again. Jean was staring at him and he was glowering at his feet like somehow this was the fault of his toes. His instincts had broken through again, howling, and he got it - he needed to protect Jean. That was his job. He had to make sure she was safe and fed and happy. When he couldn’t do those things, it made him feel like a worthless failure. Her wellbeing was on him and that was all there was to it.

“You’ll be alright, Logan,” Jean told him. Then she gently pulled down his face and kissed his forehead. “I’m going to bed, okay? I’ll come watch TV with you later, before I go to work.”

Stunned into silence and baffled by the whole situation, Logan just stood there and watched Jean disappear up the hall.

 

When Jean woke up that afternoon to get ready for work, she wasn’t sure why she was still in the bloody scrubs from her last shift. Had she really been that dumb?

The scrubs went in the trash and the sheets went in the wash, then she hurried to shower and tie up her hair out of the way. Watch onto her left wrist, sneakers onto her feet, hospital badge onto her shirt pocket.

Leaving her bedroom, Jean half-expected Logan to be hovering outside the door like he’d said, but he was nowhere to be seen. That was almost concerning, really - when Logan told her something like that, he usually followed through. Maybe he’d been joking?

 _*Professor?*_ she reached out. _*Where’s Logan? He was really upset earlier, I’m a little worried about him.*_

 _*He’s perfectly alright,*_ Xavier assured her after a moment. _*I had a conversation with him just recently about appropriate boundaries and healthy levels of attachment. He shouldn’t have another outburst towards you for awhile.*_

_*What outburst? He was probably right about everything. Don’t punish Logan, Professor, please. He was trying to help.*_

Jean thought back to what had been in his mind - it had been too loud not to hear at that distance. He was terrified, but not _of_ her… he was scared _for_ her. Logan really gave a shit but didn’t know how to express himself. He just wanted her to be okay.

It made her warm all over, like a blanket.

Smiling to herself and feeling much better than she should be considering what she’d been through a few hours ago, Jean made her way downstairs to eat something before her upcoming shift. Logan was nowhere to be found, but that was alright; she could talk to him once she got home…

...and thirty six hours later, when Jean got home and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and die, she went looking for her friend instead. She found him in his room, drinking himself into a stupor and staring through the wall.

“Logan? What’s wrong?”

He tossed back the remainder of the whiskey, then pegged the bottle over his shoulder to smash on the floor. A replacement was scooped up from somewhere near his feet.

“Nothin’.”

Jean’s heart sank into her guts as she watched Logan start gulping down this new helping of alcohol. He was clearly no stranger to the bottle, and she wondered how she’d missed this.

“Logan… is this because Professor Xavier read you the riot act?”

“Riot act?” he slurred, sounding genuinely confused. He must’ve already put away plenty of whiskey to be actually getting drunk. “No. Chuck’s got nothin’ to do with this…” And now Logan was trembling. “I just gotta make the nightmares shut up for awhile, y’know? Just a little while… I been havin’ nightmares for more’n seven years, I need a break… I need… fuck…”

Logan didn’t get off his bed - rather, he simply dropped to the floor. Between crawling and dragging himself, he got over to Jean. His big hands wrapped clumsily into her scrub shirt and he almost dragged her to the floor pulling himself to his knees. His eyes were red and desperate.

“Logan, how can I help make this better?” Jean questioned, resting her palms on his shoulders.

“You said… said… maybe you… strong enough to kill me? Maybe? Can you? Please, nothin’ works, it won’t go away and I just need to fuckin’ die so it’ll stop,” he begged.

Shocked and horrified, Jean also fell into a kneeling position and pulled Logan to her so that his face was against her neck. His arms fell limp to his sides and his metal-laced weight was almost too much to support.

“Logan… Logan, you can’t ask me for this,” Jean stammered.

“I wanna die,” he pleaded. “Nothin’ else can work… Jean… you could… I wanna die. They won’t stop, it won’t stop, but you can kill me… it’ll go away…”

Both of them had tears leaking from the corners of their eyes, now. Jean hugged Logan as tight as she could.

“No, Logan, no, stop saying that,” she insisted, rubbing his back. “Just tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll help you. I can make it better, I’ll help you, just please tell me so I can fix it.”

“They… I… they… fuck… didn’t want to… and they… it hurt… they killed…”

“Who did they kill, Logan?” Jean whispered, squeezing him with her arms to comfort him.

“I can’t…” he whimpered, shaking his head.

“Will you let me look?”

Logan said nothing, sinking against her further. Jean didn’t know how else to help him, so she reached for his memories. That proved to be an instant horror movie the likes of which she’d never been prepared for. Prior to being surgically grafted with adamantium, Logan had been chained down most of the time and not closely supervised. A trio of guards had been able to to do whatever they liked with him, whether that was kicking him until he vomited blood while screaming slurs or sodomizing him with the barrels of their guns.

Often, the scientists had made mentions of growing an entire breed of warriors from his genome, using forcible stimulation to gather their samples so that they could impregnate some of their other prisoners. Apparently only one fetus survived to term, because the detainees hadn’t been treated well enough, and in order to torture Logan further they made him watch as they killed the infant after claiming the experiment to be a failure.

It was disgusting. If these were the nightmares Logan had every night, Jean could see very clearly why he was drinking so heavily and begging for death.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jean murmured against his right ear. He was rubbing his face on her neck and she let him - it was a soothing idiosyncrasy for dogs, she knew, so maybe it was for Logan as well. “I know you would’ve stopped them if you weren’t chained down. You’re so strong and so brave, Logan, and you’ll get through this, okay? I’ll help you get through this. Nothing that happened down there was your fault. I try to help you not to have nightmares, okay? Just let me in again, and I’ll do what I can to make them quiet down.”

Logan hiccuped his consent, so Jean slipped into his subconscious and psychically threaded a suggestion through it to keep him from dreaming, or at least from realizing he was dreaming. Maybe it would help.

“Don’t go,” he whined, grabbing on when she tried to stand. “You said you’d keep me safe… don’t go…”

Jean thought he’d asked her for this before, but she felt good about indulging the request. She wanted to help Logan so much it was almost painful; he wasn’t a bad man, far from it in fact, but for some reason he’d suffered so much abuse.

“Of course, I’ll keep you safe,” she affirmed.

With some difficulty Jean got Logan into bed, wrapping him up in blankets to help him feel safe. (She knew that was what you did for babies, but maybe it would help Logan, too.) She left briefly to change into sweats and an old shirt, then went back to Logan’s room and sat in the chair next to his bed.

“Your clothes… you smell safe now. Thank you for bein’ safe for me…” Logan murmured.

About two seconds later he was out cold and snoring. Jean made sure his bedding was tucked securely around his frame, then switched off the light and meandered away to her own bed.

* * *

11.

 

After a couple of weeks, Jean seemed to have adjusted to her job. Logan was much more interested in what her first shift had inflicted on her at the moment, though, because she’d come to talk with him before her next shift. They were now both in his bathroom, Logan holding back her hair for her as she puked. This anti-AIDS drug was wreaking havoc on Jean, and it wasn’t just the obvious - the side-effects were making her telekinesis go out of control every so often.

“I’m sorry I threw you,” Jean told him as she slumped to the floor and wiped her mouth.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t bruise,” Logan shrugged. “This don’t fuck you up while you’re driving, does it? You want me to drop you off?”

“That’s probably a good idea,” she nodded. “I wouldn’t want to crash into someone and get them hurt.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Thought I told you to start takin’ better care’a yourself, kid.”

“I forgot,” Jean admitted. “I just want to help people.”

“Yeah, I know you do, but if you collapse and die, who’s that gonna help?” he pointed out. “This medication’s kickin’ your ass, you gotta listen to me.”

“It’s just a couple more weeks,” Jean countered. “I’ll be okay, Logan, I promise. Besides, I’ve got you looking out for me.”

Logan snorted. “Whether you like it or not,” he agreed with a smirk.

After he’d dropped Jean off at work, Logan was called to meet with Xavier.

“What’d I do wrong now?” he grunted as he sat down in the professor’s office.

“Nothing, Logan. I just wanted to speak with you about your friendship with Jean.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Logan muttered.

“Please, it’s not what you think,” the professor insisted. “Hank and I have been discussing her, and the fact is we’re worried.”

“About Jean.”

“Well, in truth, about both of you,” Xavier admitted. “Jean is very afraid of her powers and she hasn’t been talking with us, but she’s gotten very close with you and you’re a good friend to her.”

“She helps me,” Logan answered. “Nobody else helps me.”

“Jean has been withdrawing from everyone,” Xavier sighed. “Even her other friends. But her powers seem to be getting stronger, if very slowly. She’s always been strong… Jean may be losing control of her mutation.”

“What the hell’s this gotta do with me? I ain’t the one makin’ her sick enough that she pukes,” he snarled. “And maybe it ain’t about control, Chuck. I repaint her room for her every other week now, and she pegged me into the bathroom wall this mornin’ by accident when she was bein’ sick. You don’t control shit like that, just like I don’t control my healin’, you understand? She ain’t gonna control it, and I don’t think she should even try. Instead, she gotta learn how to live with it. The more you try to cage up a wild animal, the more it’s gonna fight to get out. Trust me.”

“Logan, please. She’s a danger to everyone and herself as it stands, and that can only escalate from here. We just want to help her. We want Jean to be safe, and happy, and successful. I want that for all of my students.”

“Well, I got news for you, Chuck: she ain’t your student anymore. She’s grown, she works, she does her own shit. You wanna help her? Then figure out a way she can take better care’a herself like I been tellin’ her. She needs to eat enough and sleep enough and feel like she’s worth somethin’, and so far nobody seems to be doin’ that but me. So yeah, I’m a good friend to her, ’cause none’a her other fuckin’ friends even noticed the problem.”

“Logan, you need to calm down,” Xavier stated, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “I agree that Jean doesn’t meet her own needs all the time. But please consider that you’ve been regularly sacrificing your own emotional health for her sake. You should take stock of your priorities at some point.”

“Jean is the top priority for me,” Logan replied. “Nobody else gives a shit what happens to me but her. So she’s my job. ’Cause obviously nobody else’s gonna give a shit about her, neither. Now tell me, _professor,_  the fuck are you hidin’ from me? I know that look and I know that smell. You ain’t tellin’ me everythin’ and you know it.”

Xavier sighed through his nose and then nodded. “Yes, but I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you.”

“Tell me anyway.”

A ridiculous and very long story about time travel followed, and at the very end of it Logan had missed lunch by half an hour and no longer knew what to believe or what was real.

“So… okay. These delusions ain’t really delusions, then? They’re from the _other_ me?”

“As far as I can gather,” the professor nodded. “I looked into your mind and saw a trail of suffering, which seemed to reach its head with a memory of Jean’s death. I’m not entirely sure whether you were in a relationship with her, only that you felt very strongly about her and blamed yourself for her demise. I’m very sorry, Logan. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, but… I couldn’t find a good way to bring up the subject.”

“That means I did somethin’ and it killed her,” Logan whispered, only now realizing the weight of that idea. “Fuck, I killed Jean…”

 

Mercifully, this was only a twelve-hour shift instead of a sixteen, twenty four or thirty six-hour shift, so the exhausted shell of a woman who was Jean Grey dragged herself out of the hospital at 8 pm. Except it wasn’t a Jeep Renegade held together with duct tape that was waiting to pick her up - it was Scott and Kurt, in one of the professor’s cars that Scott liked to work on in his spare time.

“What’s going on, guys? Where’s Logan?”

“Nobody knows,” Scott shrugged, clearly not upset by that fact. Logan and Scott didn’t get along at all. “He just vanished after lunch. I guess he didn’t have much in his room to start with, but whatever he did have in there is gone with him. Maybe he moved out.”

“At least _pretend_ you’re concerned,” Jean snapped, throwing her backpack into the seat and slamming the car door after herself.

“It will be fine,” Kurt tried to assure her. “We will find him, the professor can find anybody.”

 _It took us three years to find him last time,_ Jean thought bitterly to herself as the car started moving. What could’ve driven Logan out so suddenly?

When she got home, Professor Xavier was in Cerebro presumably searching for Logan, so Jean went to find Hank. Maybe he knew why this happened. It proved to be something of a chore in the end, because Hank sat her down for a confusing and ludicrous-sounding story that ate more than two hours. She could’ve been using those two hours to look for her friend.

“...so when Charles explained this to him earlier, he got it into his head that he’s a threat to your life and saw fit to remove himself,” Hank finally finished up with a sigh.

“Logan would never hurt me,” Jean insisted.

“I know that,” the other doctor agreed quickly. “But apparently he doesn’t agree, and Charles thinks he may be having some kind of psychotic break. Logan believes now that he’s destined to kill you, but he doesn’t want to, so he took the only way out that he saw. His state of mind is probably very dangerous. We’re going to search exhaustively for him, and hopefully we’ll find Logan before someone else does.”

“What if ‘someone else’ finds Logan first?” Jean prodded.

“Given his track record? There’ll be a body count,” Hank answered grimly. “We’ve already contacted Erik, so he’s helping us, but Erik and Logan aren’t especially friendly, so… that one could really go either way.”

“Where do we think he is now?”

“Albany, or somewhere near it. He may be headed for the city.”

“If he gets to New York City, we’ll never find him,” Jean realized. “Hank, there has to be some way we can catch him before that.”

“We’re doing everything we can.” Hank shook his head. “You can’t go out with us, Jean. You’ll miss work.”

“But Logan trusts me,” she pleaded. “I told him I could keep him safe.”

“His safety isn’t your job,” the other doctor insisted gently. “It’s going to be okay.”

* * *

12.

 

His bones were itchy.

Logan peeled his eyes open to see the gray sky dripping down at him, beyond the dumpster he was slouching back on. Rolling his head from side to side confirmed his suspicion that he’d finished off his whiskey.

And his bones were really itchy.

“Ughn,” Logan grunted, digging his fingernails against one damp arm. It didn’t help. “Th’fuck?” he mumbled, scratching harder.

“Pathetic,” a voice remarked, calmly-boredly-irritated. “But not surprising. Join me, Wolverine?”

Logan was pulled up by invisible hands. He tried to get loose, or even fall down, but couldn’t escape. “Leggoame!”

“Certainly not. Come along now, like the good little puppy you are. We have an appointment with Charles.”

Logan was dragged by the metal guy into the air, to which he tried to howl with fright and found his jaws clamped shut. He couldn’t get away or even extend his claws. He was pulled through the sky and into a plane, which just pissed him off more. And then on top of everything there was Hank to prod him.

“He’ll be fine, he’s just hungover,” the furred mutant decided. “You can sit him here, Erik.”

Logan was forced into one of the chairs and strapped down, helpless to stop them from manhandling him. He growled in protest, but that was all he could manage with Erik’s grip on his skeleton.

“Don’wanna go back th’re,” he snarled, knowing where they were taking him. “Not stayin’.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s really up to you,” Hank chuckled.

“Fuck you, furball,” Logan spat. His head was starting to clear up a bit, which only made things worse. Everything was uglier sober; he needed more Jack. “Get outta my face.”

“Logan, I’ll try to be brief for you. Are you aware you’ve been evading us for eleven days?”

“Don’t care.”

“Well, we do care.” Hank shifted uncomfortably. “Especially Jean. She’s been almost literally worrying herself sick about you.”

“She shouldn’t,” Logan grumbled. _I’mma get her killed._

“Logan-”

“Will you piss the fuck off?” he snapped. “Don’t wanna talk about this!”

“He’s still a stellar conversationalist, I see.”

“Please, not now. He’s very ill, Erik, and you’re not helping by being sarcastic.”

“I ain’t sick, except’a your bullshit,” Logan butted in.

“Mental illness is still illness,” Hank insisted, shaking his head.

Logan just rolled his eyes and did everything he could to ignore them both for the rest of the flight. He was more or less dragged off to his bedroom once they’d finally gotten back to the school, but after that Erik relinquished control back to him. At least a tiny amount of luck seemed to be with him right now, though, because he found a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor of his closet.

As Logan glugged down his happy juice, the door was slammed open - he reflexively flung himself backwards off his bed and tripped over his own limbs scrambling into the corner away from Jean as she burst into his room. He was a threat to her.

“Logan-”

“It ain’t safe,” he told her, not letting her finish. “I’mma get you killed. You’re gonna get killed. I can’t.”

“Logan just stop, okay?” Jean insisted. “Logan, stop thinking about jumping through the window. Logan. It’s okay, I’m okay. I just need _you_ to be okay.”

“Please,” he whispered, “don’t let me hurt you.”

“I won’t, Logan. I promise.” Jean gradually came up to him and sat beside him in the corner. “But I don’t want you to leave anymore, okay?”

“No guarantees.” Logan still couldn’t help leaning slightly away from her. He was too dangerous, he might hurt Jean. “I’ll prob’ly still leave someday.”

“Logan, you’re one of my best friends, and I meant it when I said I’m not scared of you. You’re not going to hurt me… so please don’t leave. It would make me really unhappy.”

“Jean…”

“Hey, listen to me.” She pulled him into a hug, stroking down and fluffing up his dark hair. “Remember that I’ll always be safe for you, okay? So you don’t have to leave.”

“But I ain’t safe, Jean.”

“I know, that’s why I’m safe for you.” She flattened down the fur on his scalp again, pressing his bristly cheek to her shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay, I can hear your thoughts, remember?”

Logan couldn’t help but smirk slightly. “That ain’t always a good idea, y’know.”

“Come on, let’s go get a snack. I just got off a shift and I’m starving.”

 

As Jean was digging in the cabinets while a very nervous Logan fidgeted at the table behind her, she finally put the pieces together - the ones Professor Xavier had omitted, and the ones her suffering friend simply hadn’t discovered for himself yet.

Logan was in love with her.

The idea was somewhat surprising for Jean, and more than a little unsettling. Now that she had this information, she didn’t know what the hell to do with it. She was pretty sure the professor thought it was only “other Logan” who’d loved her, and it was obvious Logan wasn’t even aware of this fact himself as of yet. So nobody knew aside from her, potentially. This was just what she needed - not.

 _Dammit,_ Jean thought to herself, shaking her head a little as she grabbed the greasiest-looking collection of potato chips and fatty dip she could find. She needed to do something really unhealthy right now because there were too many things to cope with unless she could have a mountain of junk food with her hapless friend.

“Here, start eating so I don’t think about how bad it is for me,” she insisted, dropping into the chair across from Logan and shoving a bag of Lays into his meaty hands.

“Sure,” he muttered, effortlessly ripping it open and cramming a fistful into his mouth. “You okay, kid? You keep lookin’ at me funny.”

“I’m fine,” Jean lied. She didn’t even have to force the smile, though, because her next words were genuine: “I’m glad you’re back, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, making Jean frown a little. “Still don’t think it’s safe for you.”

“Nothing’s safe for me,” she replied. “I’m an emergency room doctor with a ridiculously overpowered mutation.”

Jean scooped up a glob of French onion dip and crunched down on it to punctuate her statement, chasing it by sucking on one of the Juicy Juice boxes that was actually for the kids. Logan was longing for more Jack Daniels, which was both predictable and very sad. She’d have to do something to help him get off the bottle, and once again she found herself wondering how she hadn’t noticed this problem for so many years.

After their fattening snack, Logan wandered away after promising not to bolt again while Jean went out in search of the professor.

 _*Why didn’t you tell me?*_ she demanded.

_*Pardon?*_

_*About Logan. You didn’t tell me everything about his situation, professor. I have to say, I really don’t appreciate that.*_ Jean folded her arms loosely. _*I’m trying to help him and you wouldn’t even give me all the information.*_

 _*I didn’t think it would be relevant,*_ Xavier answered. _*Or that you’d be comfortable with the knowledge. I’m sure you’ve also gathered that, at present, he’s not fully aware of it himself.*_

Jean nodded. _*What am I supposed to do, sir? He’s so damaged and nothing I try seems to help him most of the time, or at least not for more than a few days. I just want Logan to get better but nothing works.*_

 _*It’s possible nothing will work,*_ Xavier sighed, shaking his head. _*The notion isn’t ideal and not one we’d like to entertain, but it’s an unfortunate a possibility we need to acknowledge. I underestimated the amount of damage he’s sustained when I first located him four years ago.*_

 _*That’s such crap,*_ Jean argued. _*He needs our help and that’s it. You’re not really going to give up on him are you, Professor? Because I’m not, no matter what you say. And even if you do give up on Logan, the least you can do is tell me the damn truth of what you know about him!*_

Unbelievably angry now, Jean ended up storming back out of Xavier’s office and going to her bedroom to calm down.

* * *

13.

 

Jean acted slightly weird towards him for a couple weeks, and Logan was starting to wonder if she’d finally come to her senses that she should be terrified of him. Finally one night he tracked her to the roof despite that it was raining out. Jean was dry, though, and it was strange but cool that there was a tangible bubble of her powers repelling the drops of water.

“Hey,” Logan grunted, sitting directly in a puddle to her right and not caring.

“Hey. You know you’re getting wet, right?”

“So?” he shrugged. “How come you’re out here? You wanna be alone? I can go.”

“It’s okay, you’re fine.” She flashed him a smile. “I just hate being an intern. You wouldn’t _believe_ some of the crap I have to put up with in that emergency department.”

“You been actin’ kinda funny around me, kid. Did I make you uncomfortable or somethin’?”

“No, you didn’t, it’s okay. It’s actually just something the professor said… but that’s not important. I didn’t know I was acting different at all, really. Hey, how much have you been drinking?”

“Today? None. The smell’s from yesterday night.”

“How can I help you drink less?”

“You can’t, and I don’t want you to,” Logan told her stubbornly. “Jean, you gotta stop worryin’ about me. I ain’t fixable.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she argued. “Come on, I don’t want to have this conversation again. Let’s get out of the rain.”

They went inside and Logan obliviously dripped all over the kitchen as Jean made herself a huge cup of coffee. She drank almost as much of that shit as he drank Jack Daniels.

“So how long til this shit-show ends and you can work for Hank?” Logan asked, feeling oddly conversational for once.

“About three and a half more years of this hell,” Jean groaned in response. “I thought once I finished my schooling it would get easier… that was pretty dumb of me, huh?”

“Nah, you’re the smartest woman I know,” he shook his head. It felt good that he’d made her smile. “You’ll do great, kid. You _been_ doin’ great, alright? You even came on that mission with us when you were off work and kicked ass.”

They just talked for awhile, first in the kitchen and then walking a circuit of the halls. Logan was still surprised sometimes about how calming she was for him. He wondered if Jean did it on purpose or if it was all in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the last one, but I felt like this was a good spot to end it.
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments and stuff.


	3. 1992.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for violence against animals in this chapter; Logan gets into a fight with a bear.

14.

 

It had nearly taken an act of god, but Jean had gotten a week-long vacation before her last year of residency would start this July. So, she was going with Ororo and Warren on a trip with their youngest students out to camp in the woods. Scott had initially volunteered, but changed his mind because he wanted to stay home with his boyfriend and get ready for the next school year (because Scott was obsessive about that crap).

The idea had been just to have a week off before her final year of slavery in the hospital started, but she did like the five youngsters they were accompanying and this way Hank could stay behind and not have to interrupt his research.

“So you’re goin’ with the short ones?” came Logan’s growly tone from her doorway.

Jean turned from where she was packing her things on her bed: “Yeah, it’ll be a nice break from my job. Why, do you want to come with us? We’re going camping in New Hampshire.”

“Do you want me to?” Logan shrugged, folding his arms.

Good god, this was painful. He still couldn’t just admit that he loved her, and that made Jean feel terrible for him because it was probably another symptom of being tortured.

“The kids would love for you to come with us, Logan,” she smiled. “You’re a great jungle-gym.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Bring your trunks, too, we might go swimming in the river.”

“I don’t swim,” Logan replied flatly.

“That’s okay, you won’t have to. But like I said, the kids will like it, you’re really good with them.”

Sticky-palmed elementary school children, a crap-ton of camping gear, adjusting one car’s front passenger seat for Warren’s wings, insisting Logan wasn’t allowed to smoke in the other car, and a several-hour drive later saw the nine of them finally at their campsite. The three boys had a tent, the two girls got a tent, Warren had his own tent (again because of his wings), and Jean shared the last one with Ororo. Logan set up his bed in the branches of a particularly sturdy tree.

Logan hacked up some firewood for their convenience, and the cooking of hot dogs commenced. Everyone had to be hosed in Off! except for him to deter the clouds of mosquitoes, but the kids were having a great time. It made Jean feel better than she had in weeks, almost… _relaxed._ She was here with her friends and five cute, happy kids, away from the pressures of the hospital and the school.

Logan, again doing all the hard work for them, dragged over logs to sit on around the campfire while they ate their hot dogs, then proceeded to climb up his tree and sit away from them.

The eight of them cooked s’mores, making the children even stickier than they had been before, then watched the stars come out, told ghost stories, and herded the kids into their sleeping bags. Jean didn’t remember the last time she’d had this much fun.

 

Of course, since this trip was being run by Xavier’s pawns, there was educational things happening.

Ororo had suggested Logan take the two eight-year-olds and show them how to properly collect wood and build a viable campfire - Ronnie and Jeremy listened most of the time, though, so it wasn’t terrible. Logan still hadn’t worked out why the hell little kids liked him so much, but he usually went with it. They killed his son in the lab, so he should take care of Chuck’s students instead. (At least, that’s what Hank and Xavier had told him.)

“So, you remember what the smallest ones’re for?” Logan quizzed.

“Candling?” Ronnie answered uncertainly.

“Word’s actually _kindling,_ ” Logan corrected, “but yeah, good job. So, you pile them in the middle like this… then take the next smallest ones and lean them real careful onto the pile, alright?”

“Why?” Jeremy questioned.

“’Cause you can’t just light up the big ones right off,” he explained, striking the match and lighting the twigs. “Now, watch. They’ll catch the sticks. Once we got the sticks burnin’ good, we can start puttin’ in branch pieces, and then the logs.”

As the boys learned the nuances of campfire burning from Logan, Ororo and Jean had Joey and Alexis somewhere in the campground picking wild raspberries. Apparently this was also going to teach the six- and seven-year-old kids which berries were poisonous and shouldn’t be eaten. Lilly, who was only five, didn’t have to learn anything - Warren had her in his arms and was flying her around overhead.

Once done with his little example fire, Logan let Ronnie and Jeremy go back to playing with their green plastic soldiers in the dirt in favor of climbing up to his tree-bed with a book. It wasn’t really his first choice of activities, but it beat the fuck out of trying to explain things. He didn’t like the idea of himself as a teacher.

“Hey Logan?”

He poked his head to the side: “Need somethin’?”

“Can you go catch us some lunch?” Jean asked.

“Meat or fish?” Logan frowned. “Wait, didn’t you bring food? What would you do if I didn’t come along yesterday?”

“We did, but canned food isn’t as good.” _*And then you can have a little time to yourself if you want,*_ she offered psychically.

“Yeah, sure. So, preference?”

Jean shrugged: “Dealer’s choice.”

Logan grunted his compliance and climbed down, heading out into the woods. He knew there was a river somewhere, so his nose could lead him to it and he’d do some spearfishing.

The problem was, two or three minutes into this impromptu fishing trip, Logan could smell something he knew had to be dealt with: sick animal. He knew that stench, it came suddenly unburied from his instincts, which meant he’d run into it at some point before his memories started… not just any sick animal, but a sick _bear._ A very sick bear. Rabies? He thought it was rabies.

Slipping noiselessly through the undergrowth, Logan tracked the carnivore down and was irritated to discover that his assessment had been right. The bear was drooling, eyeing him now he was close enough that it had caught his scent. Of course, Logan actually felt bad for the fucker. He knew the bear hadn’t asked for this.

Growling deep in his chest, Logan snapped his claws out from his hands and lunged for the big mammal. He felt his blades sink through the pelt and embed themselves further in, and almost immediately the hooked claws of one huge paw tore open his left side. Both predators roared, but Logan had the advantage in not only his healing factor but also that he wasn’t being controlled by a disease.

Logan ripped his claws downward, tearing open the flesh of the bear before it slammed him down with a blow that would’ve broken a normal man’s bones. He tried to slash its jugular, but there were fangs already burying themselves into his shoulder. Pinned down and with the bear ripping muscle away from his metal skeleton, Logan could only howl with agony and rage.

He had to scrabble for a moment with his free arm, finally raking the tips of his blades along the bear’s side. There was blood and slobber all over him, now, and Logan was really starting to get pissed off. His right arm was absolutely useless until the flesh grew back, so once he struggled free it was almost its own battle to hit a vulnerable spot with his left claws.

That vulnerable spot, though, was the animal’s neck.

Logan ripped downwards, through all the major blood vessels and the windpipe, watching with grim satisfaction as his opponent was downed almost instantly.

Sighing as he put the bear out of its misery, Logan ended up dragging it from the campground altogether so that some idiot couldn’t stumble on the carcass. He argued briefly with himself before pocketing the claws and heading back to start his fishing expedition.

 

For some reason, Logan failed to deliver their lunch, so while the kids played with their toys in the grass or dug holes Jean sliced up several helpings of spam to be fried in a skillet. Since Logan also wasn’t around to restart the fire he’d been teaching with earlier, she ended up using her powers to light it. Just that tiny act had Phoenix twitching and rumbling in her mind, which was frustrating. Sometimes it felt like she’d never have control of her mutation.

Fried spam with canned corn later, the kids were taking turns flying with Warren while Ororo got them to reapply their sunscreen and bug spray. Jean wasn’t paying attention to her friends or the kids - instead, she was using her telekinesis to lift and pile stones the way Luke Skywalker had done in _Empire Strikes Back._ It was a basic practice exercise, and of course she was way beyond that level by now, but at least it was something Jean _knew_ she could do without trouble.

It was almost time for dinner when Logan finally returned, but the timing was actually pretty good considering the amount of fish he’d brought with him. Oddly, though, his clothes were not only soaking but also had light brownish-pink stains that hadn’t been there before. The giant holes in his sleeveless undershirt said he’d tangled with something, which did explain how late he was.

“Have fun?” Jean teased, smirking at her friend.

“No,” Logan grunted, apparently not in the mood for banter. He seemed to be favoring his right arm a little. “Got your fish. I need a nap.”

They had no right to complain about that, though. Logan would’ve been the best man for the job of cleaning the freaking heap of fish, but he’d done all the hard work of catching them, and even besides that he looked like he’d earned the right to his nap. Warren, despite being a man, was squeamish about gutting their dinner, so Ororo helped him entertain the children while this messy task fell to Jean. Because of course it did. Of course Jean was the one who had to do this.

Taking a deep breath, she mustered her control and was very proud of herself for being able to work on several fish at once by telekinetically holding the knives. She sensed the bones that had been accidentally left in and simply disintegrated them, ensuring that nobody could choke on one, and soon they were being sliced up for the skillet. The sizzle of the food in cooking oil mixed with the woodsy smoke of the campfire was calming and delightful for her, and Jean found herself breathing in deeply so she could remember the smell later.

Warren, actually, was the one preparing their dinner now that the gross part had been taken care of for him, so Jean got to laze around by the fire and just chill for the time being. It was for this reason that, upon hearing the crazed snarl, she reacted to Logan throwing himself out of his perch and was able to catch him before he hit the ground. Jean mentally set him on his feet and motioned for him to come over and sit as if nothing had happened.

“So who picked a fight with you?”

“Rabid bear,” Logan shrugged. He was still damp in patches. “Brought souvenirs, though.”

Jean didn’t get to ask what he meant, because a few seconds later they were passing around plates of fried fish while Ororo quizzed the kids about what they’d done today aside from playing in the dirt.

“This is yummy!” Alexis declared, and the others all enthusiastically agreed. (Apparently they were just lucky about that, because none of the children seemed to be really picky about food.)

After dinner and of course s’mores, Logan surprised them by producing a handful of claws from the pocket of his jeans and gaining the kids’ attention.

“So, I fought a bear today,” he started, which prompted giggling and excited murmurs. “And I brought back his claws for all’a you. I ain’t gonna give these to you now, but you can have them when we’re back at the school, alright? That way nothin’ll happen to them. But, you can look real quick.”

He let them take turns feeling one of the claws.

“How big was it?” Jeremy wondered.

“Well, this was just a black bear, so not too big. Bigger’n me, though. Thing is, you shouldn’t try to fight bears. If one’s sniffin’ around your tent, you should play dead, and it’ll prob’ly leave you alone. It’s more dangerous to come across one out in the woods, you understand? ’Cause maybe it’s sick or lookin’ for food. Or ’specially if it’s got cubs. Don’t _never_ come between a bear and its cubs, you won’t live to tell about it after.”

“So we get to keep the claws?” Joey asked.

“Once we get back like I said, okay kid?”

Watching Logan with the children was endearing - he told them all kinds of things about bears, like how they ate a lot of the same berries as humans, how they would sometimes climb to go after honey, how Indian tribes believed that wearing the claws might give them some of the bear’s strength. He was so good with the kids, even though Jean could tell it bothered him a little to be around them. He’d watched his infant son die in Stryker’s lab, after all, and the school’s youngest residents constantly reminded him of that.

After a round of ghost stories, the kids were put to bed while the four adults stayed up for a while, quietly tending the fire and looking up at the night sky. Logan had eventually changed into dry pants and a flannel, while the ruined wife beater was tossed. Clad in green plaid and with his scruff grown out a little longer than normal, he looked completely at home here in the forest.

“Can I ask something?” Jean prompted softly, not wanting to completely break the stillness of the night now that Warren and Ororo had also turned in. “Are you glad you came with us?”

“Kinda,” Logan shrugged, his voice equally quiet. “I like the trees. Don’t mind goin’ fishin’ for all’a you, neither. This place feels safe to me.”

“I’m glad you feel safe here,” she smiled, turning to look at him. The dim gold of the fire was playing across his rugged features. “And I’m glad you came on this trip. I know the kids are, too. They like you.”

Even without reading his thoughts, Jean could tell that Logan was refusing to turn and meet her eyes on purpose. He was uncomfortable with the idea of how emotionally attached he’d grown to her.

“They like me,” he echoed, barely more than whispering. “They shouldn’t. Don’t know if I could save them. If somethin’ happened… ’cause I should’a got free and stopped the fuckers from doin’ it, but I didn’t, I just watched while they… fuck.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jean reminded him patiently. “They’re the ones who did those things, not you.”

“But I should’a… fuckin’ hell, didn’t even know I had a kid until I was watchin’ them do him in. They never told me or let me name him, or let me see him… I should’a tried harder to get free.”

Jean moved sideways on the log so that she was next to him, slipping her left hand into Logan’s right. He squeezed her fingers lightly - Jean touched his hands a lot, and he found it comforting. It showed him over and over again that she didn’t fear the death he could cause with them.

“Do you know what you would’ve named him if they’d let you?”

“No.” Logan shook his head. “No, I don’t have a name for him. I…”

“What?”

“I just thought… um… could you come up with a name for him, Jean? Just so I have somethin’ to call him in my head?”

“I’ll help you do it when we go back to New York,” she promised.

* * *

15.

 

Returning to the school was more distressing than Jean had anticipated. After four days out in the New Hampshire wilds, she wasn’t at all excited about going back to work. It wasn’t because she hated being a doctor - it was that she hated being in the emergency department. Her final year of residency was starting soon, but thinking about it was like staring across a desert and worrying that the plastic water bottle in her hand would fall short of the challenge.

“You okay?”

Logan’s rough voice derailed her train of thought as he pulled the vehicle into the garage.

“I just don’t want my vacation to end,” she answered, trying to sound lighter about it than she felt.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I don’t want your vacation to end, either,” Logan offered. “I almost forgot how you look when you ain’t dead.”

In spite of herself, Jean laughed a little at that. Even if he was unable (or unwilling) to admit to being in love with her, Logan was such a damn good friend that she couldn’t bring herself to feel awkward about it.

She’d worried on the last night that she’d burn down the tent she shared with Ororo, so Logan had stayed up all night to wake her if she started having problems. Jean hadn’t lost control in her sleep, and also hadn’t found out what he’d done until the morning - but instead of thinking it was odd or creepy like a lot of people would’ve, she knew it was just Logan being Logan. He tried very hard to hide it, but deep inside he could be a really sweet and thoughtful guy.

“Stop that,” Logan growled suddenly, startling her.

“Huh? Stop what?” Jean questioned.

“I can hear you thinkin’ about me over there. I ain’t ‘sweet.’”

Embarrassed, all she could do at first was laugh to try and hide it. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking so loudly on purpose.”

For some reason, though, Logan was glaring at her with a level of venom usually reserved only for Scott or Erik. He stomped away from the garage without saying anything else, leaving Jean feeling almost as hurt as she was confused. Logan was irritable and didn’t have much patience, but he’d never actually gotten _mad_ at her that she remembered.

What had just happened?

Feeling strangely numb after a few minutes, Jean helped put away the camping gear in a daze and then went to her bedroom to sulk. She hadn’t done that in years, but it seemed like the only thing she could manage right now. What had set Logan off? Jean was so careful, or at least she tried to be, because she knew his life was hard and he didn’t need more aggravation. But she’d done something, apparently. Maybe he’d thought she was laughing at _him_ instead of at herself for being clumsy with her telepathy…? Or maybe he really was that offended by the thought she’d been having on its own. Logan was generally very tough and masculine, at least in front of people, so maybe it hurt his ego to be labeled “sweet.”

 _What did I do to you, Logan?_ she wondered, sighing into her hands before flopping back onto her mattress.

It only got worse later on, because Logan was obviously staying at least six feet from her when they happened by each other in the hall as Jean was on her way down for dinner. This time he didn’t even scowl at her, just kept his head down and maintained distance. That didn’t really matter, though, because even from as far apart as they were, Jean almost choked from the aura of Jack Daniels on him. It was the only thing that could’ve made her feel worse, because she’d been doing her best to help him stop drinking and he’d been making some progress in the last few months.

Jean tried to eat, but her stomach had become a military-style hatchet knot before she’d even gotten her food. And of course, this still got further stacked on by the realization that Logan wasn’t even there. Last year he’d finally graduated to having meals in the cafeteria with everyone, and now seemed to be completely backpedaling on all of the progress he’d made since the professor had found him in ’86.

“Jean? Are you feeling well?” Kurt gently queried.

“Hm? Why do you ask?”

“You are looking quite pale,” he answered, frowning slightly. Another very sweet and caring man; Jean could see why Scott was dating him. “I hope you did not catch something out in the woods.”

“No, I… I didn’t catch anything, I just… I’m sorry, can you guys excuse me?” Jean stammered, getting up and leaving her picked-apart food behind on the table.

She tried not to sprint in a panic up the hall to Logan’s bedroom, praying to a god she’d never believed in that he hadn’t made a run for it again. After picking the lock like she’d done so many times, Jean was also forced to telekinetically move Logan’s dresser aside because he’d shoved it in the path of the door the way a kid would if they thought they were in trouble for something.

As soon as she’d actually made it into the room, Jean had to duck so that the empty liquor bottle Logan pegged wouldn’t hit her in the face. He must’ve been staggeringly drunk, though, because as she raised her head it was just in time to witness him go crashing to the floor with a gurgling yelp.

“Look,” Jean told him as she made her way over, avoiding the scattered empties, “I don’t know what I did that upset you, but I’m sorry, okay? What did I do?”

“You gotta stop,” Logan whined, rolling fully onto his back and failing to get to his feet. “You gotta… stop it, stop thinkin’ ’bout me. Thinkin’ nice things ’bout me. Gonna get you killed… understand? Don’wanna get you killed, I’m dang’rous…”

 _Not this again,_ Jean couldn’t help groaning internally, careful to make sure she wasn’t accidentally projecting this time. And besides that, what did he mean by stop thinking nice things about him? Was it really that big of a deal?

Realizing those questions were best left for when Logan was sober again, Jean tried to at least pull him so he was sitting up, but he’d gone limp and was too heavy. His arms were flailing slightly, maybe trying to help her even if it was to no effect.

“Jean?” Logan mumbled, staring blearily up at her from the floor.

“What?” she replied quietly, ceasing her efforts.

“’M sorry,” he slurred, weakly wrapping his fingers into her sleeve. “Didn’ mean nothin’.”

“I know, it’s okay,” Jean told him, reluctantly using her powers to get him sitting upright. She didn’t want to exercise them too much, it only made Phoenix bolder each time. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

Propped against the side of his bed, Logan pulled her against himself and wouldn’t let go. There were no tears, but his voice was whimpering pitifully. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, clumsily kissing the corner of her mouth before pressing his face to her neck. “I’m sorry, Jean, I could’a got you hurt… I’m sorry… I’m sorry for bein’ the way I am…”

 

When Logan regained consciousness the next morning, the first thing he did was scramble into his bathroom to spew chunks. The next thing was to drink water straight from his sink faucet because his mouth was a desert and he had a headache to slay Juggernaut.

Staggering back out into his bedroom, Logan’s enhanced senses were being bludgeoned by everything around him, as if he needed more reminders that he was hungover to beat him over the head now that he’d stepped on one of the empties and had to pick glass shards from the sole of his foot.

Logan somehow made the agonizing climb back into bed, where he promptly sliced open the side of his pillow so that he could rip the cotton out and pack it into his ears. Settling on his stomach, he pulled the bedclothes up over himself and tied the pillowcase around his eyes to hold them shut.

A series of knocks to his door were like explosions in his brain.

“The fuck you want?” Logan snarled, almost flinching from his own volume.

 _*Hey, it’s just me,*_ came Jean’s voice in his head. _*I know you’re not feeling well this morning, do you need anything?*_

 _Shoot me?_ he snarked. _Can you do some’a your psychic whatever to make it stop hurting?_

 _*I can put you on an IV, it’ll rehydrate you and that would help a lot by itself,*_ she offered.

_Sure. Do that._

A few minutes later when Jean had returned with the IV kit, Logan was less enthusiastic about the idea once she’d explained that she’d actually be stabbing the thing into his arm.

“It’s okay, just don’t look and you’ll barely even feel it,” Jean tried to assure him.

“No needles,” Logan growled, squinting at her because it just hurt too much to open his eyes all the way.

“Do you want to be in pain all morning or not?” Jean sighed impatiently. Then she groaned. “Dammit, I forgot gloves.”

“Gloves?” Logan questioned.

“OSHA just published a thing about bloodborne pathogens a couple months ago and now we have to wear disposable gloves for everything. I’m still not used to it yet… you don’t mind if I don’t put them on, do you? It’s not like you can get sick.”

“Sure, what the fuck ever,” Logan growled. He reluctantly uncurled his right arm and turned his head away. “Just get it over with, alright?”

Cold and wet swiping in his elbow, then a tiny poke that was virtually nothing compared with his hangover. Some dark corner of his brain just screamed this would bring all kinds of pain, that he was about to get pumped full of toxic shit, but it never came. With a grunt, Logan rolled his head back over to see Jean securing the tube to his arm with a piece of white tape before dumping all the wrappers in the trash.

“There, all done,” she smiled, pulling over his desk chair to the bed.

“How much did I drink?” Logan groaned, not able to get comfortable on his bed while that _thing_ was stuck into his arm.

“I don’t know. A lot,” Jean replied, sounding uneasy. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Not really… I think I was mad about… somethin’. Don’t know what it was, though.”

“It’s okay, I already apologized for it,” she assured him. “You threw a bottle at me, but it missed.”

“Damn. You gotta stop lettin’ me throw shit at you,” Logan mumbled, which got her to chuckle a little.

“I’m pretty sure I startled you, that’s why you threw it.”

“At least throw back next time, alright?” he half-joked.

“Sure,” she snorted. One of her hands found his. “But I still want you to drink less, okay? You’ve been doing really well until last night, one slip-up is no reason to fall back down into a pit.”

* * *

16.

 

“I feel stupid readin’ this,” Logan muttered.

“You’re not stupid, you’re coping,” Jean reminded him patiently, not for the first time that morning.

Pain was sloughing from his thoughts in waves, but she’d done her best to prepare herself for that. It was for Logan, sure, but secretly Jean knew it also helped her a little that she was holding his hand. Such a tiny gesture for most people, she mused, that had become so important for the two of them as friends. It was comforting, of course, but it also fostered a type of intimate connection that had nothing to do with romance, sex, or anything similar. This was a supportive action, two lonely people propping each other up whenever they could.

“I think I got one,” Logan mumbled eventually, squeezing her fingers.

“Good,” Jean smiled. “Which one?”

“...mind if I just keep it to myself for awhile?” he finally answered.

“Of course. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

“Thank you.” Logan closed his eyes for a second. “So what next?”

“Here,” she offered as she slid across a piece of paper and a pencil. “Write it down and then fold it in half.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Jean echoed, smiling at him again and motioning for him to get out of the chair. “Now we put it in here-” The folded paper was set into a shoe box Jean had picked up from somewhere in the school. “-and take it outside with us.”

It was a slow walk to the back lawn of the grounds, and they finally stopped right on the edge of the woods. Phoenix issues aside, Jean wasn’t going to dig the hole with her powers anyway, even though it would’ve taken less than a second as opposed to several minutes. This was something Logan needed to do on his own.

They buried it in silence, an ordinary blue shoe box with a lone piece of paper in it. Only one word had been written, the name Logan had chosen for his murdered child, which was too painful for him to share with the world yet. His eyes were leaking slow tears, now, but otherwise he held himself together.

They marked the spot with a scrap board, which would only stay until they could come up with something better. Heart aching for him, Jean held Logan’s hand the entire walk back into the school.

 

When Jean went back to work for her last year at the hospital, Logan ended up dropping her off because her car was getting inspected. He wasted the whole day destroying simulated enemies in the danger room as he waited for her shift to be over, when he should’ve been working on the shocks of his motorcycle or reading that book Xavier had pressured him into accepting (Chuck wanted Logan to start teaching) or any number of other things.

Logan left earlier than he needed to, but that gave him time to go through the McDonald’s drive-thru and the local Blockbuster Video before picking Jean up from the hospital. As soon as she got into the seat of his Chevy S10, he dropped the warm bag of food into her lap.

“What’s this?”

“Eat,” Logan grunted, shifting into drive.

“This stuff’s really bad for me,” she half-protested.

“Can’t you just fuckin’ enjoy yourself sometimes?” Logan teased, smirking.

“Well, if you insist.” Jean promptly crammed a massive handful of fries into her mouth in an extremely un-ladylike way and groaned a little. “Mmmph… so good.”

“There, see?” he snickered, reaching across to scoop up some for himself before they all disappeared into his friend’s stomach. “So how’s your first day back?”

“Ugh, pretty much as bad as I thought it’d be,” Jean complained. “Doctor Warner and his freaking busy work… if I wasn’t psychic, I’d swear he makes my life hard on purpose.”

“Want me to stab him for you?” Logan offered, mostly kidding.

“No, remember you should save the stabbings for people who _really_ need it,” she grinned back.

The banter escalated on the drive home until they ended up throwing fries at each other across the cab of the truck, but ultimately called a truce once they ran out of food to use as projectiles.

“Thanks for the dinner,” Jean told him as they rumbled into the driveway.

“It’s nothin’,” Logan shrugged. “I, uh, got you a surprise, too. I heard you say somethin’ about this movie once, and I knew your day today would be shit, so… here.”

He pulled the Blockbuster rental case from the glove box and set it into her hands. As soon as she snapped open the blue and yellow plastic to reveal the prize inside, her whole face lit up.

“Oh my god, Logan, thank you,” Jean breathed. “I haven’t seen this movie in _forever…_ I can’t believe you remembered that I like it.”

“I have a shot in one’a my albums of you talkin’ about it one time,” Logan joked.

She chuckled and looked back at him: “So have you ever actually seen it?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a travesty,” Jean exclaimed, all but dragging him from the driver’s side of the Chevy. “Come on, I’m making you see it with me.”

They ended up parked on the couch of the least-used rec room with _The Terminator_ plugged into the VCR. Logan couldn’t help but get invested in the intensity of the story, which for him was really something considering he usually couldn’t sit still long enough for a half-hour sitcom. The longest he stopped paying attention was maybe a couple minutes to try and remember if there was a sequel, because he was pretty sure he’d heard some of the older students yammering on about it last year.

“That’s kinda depressin’,” Logan remarked once the credits were rolling and Jean got up to eject the tape. “Why d’you like this movie so much? It’s alright, but it’s a downer.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Jean answered, putting the movie back in its case and reclaiming her spot in the crook of his arm with the remote so they could flip endlessly for a little bit. “It’s not like most other sci-fi or horror films… it’s also a love story. So it’s supposed to be sad, because Kyle went back through time and knew he could die but even with the future of humanity on his shoulders, he also did it just because he loved her that much.”

“If you say so,” Logan grunted, rolling his eyes.

“You just don’t get it because you’re a man,” Jean teased, tilting her head back slightly to look up at him.

Time dissolved when their eyes met.

Jean was still in her rumpled blue hospital uniform, hairs loose from where she’d tied it up for work. The bags under her medium-brown eyes had already made a fierce comeback despite a week-long vacation that had ended just yesterday. Her breath smelled like greasy, salty fast food… her air was being drawn into his lungs. She was the most beautiful thing Logan could ever comprehend, in everything he remembered and everything he didn’t, and all he wanted to do then was kiss her.

But he couldn’t.

Prying his gaze away and fixing it guiltily back on the television screen, Logan shifted uncomfortably on the couch and felt the moment pass. He couldn’t do it, he’d ruin her… Jean should have so much more than he could ever give. He just couldn’t do it, and knowing that made him feel like he’d been stabbed in the chest.

* * *

17.

 

For five weeks, Jean and Logan more or less avoided discussing the near-miss on the couch, though it was definitely not by her choice. The amazing thing was that Logan managed this while _not_ outright avoiding Jean, somehow. But he seemed to know when she was thinking about bringing it up, at which point he’d distract her in whatever way first came to his head.

Jean was losing her mind over this.

“Logan, sit,” she ordered, entering his bedroom without even knocking.

“Let’s not and say we did,” he grunted, not turning to look at her.

“I’m not kidding,” Jean snapped. Her patience with his bullshit on this topic had finally been stretched too far, and she didn’t stop to think about the fact that she was now telekinetically shoving him down into his desk chair. “What the hell is your deal?”

“Um… Jean, you-”

“No, enough,” she insisted. “No changing the subject, no distractions, none of it. In fifteen minutes I have to leave for work, and for god’s sake you _will_ explain yourself before that happens!”

“Look, I ain’t sayin’ this to be distractin’, but-”

“Logan!” Jean yelled, interrupting him. She was mentally pinning him into his chair so that he couldn’t run, because if nothing else she’d get this one freaking thing done before leaving for that nightmare of a hospital and another hellish twenty four-hour shift. “I’m! Not! _Kidding!_ ”

“Jean, your fuckin’ hair is on fire!” Logan screamed back.

Well, so it was.

Now focused on the panic and fear, Jean completely forgot about holding the other mutant prisoner and before she could even think about what was going on Logan had wrapped a blanket around her head to smother the flames.

All the rage and strength dissipated, then, leaving Jean in a witless state of collapse. Before she hit the floor, Logan caught her under her shoulders and sat on the floor, still holding her. Jean couldn’t stop shaking, so she just leaned back into his strong chest and wondered why she’d been so angry with him to begin with. Hell, she didn’t even remember what she’d been screaming at Logan about two seconds ago.

“You’re pissed ’cause I was gonna kiss you,” he murmured, squeezing her gently. (Had she been projecting again?) “I ain’t sure if you’re pissed ’cause I wanted to or ’cause I ended up not doin’ it, but it’s one’a those. Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Jean hiccuped, unable to stop herself from beginning to cry. She was so confused by what she’d almost done to him and scared by not understanding why. “I shouldn’t have done that… Logan, did I hurt you?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You feel lighter, y’know. You been eatin’ enough on your breaks at work?”

“I can’t believe you think I get breaks at work,” Jean wavered, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

“For fuck’s sake,” Logan muttered. He shifted her in his grip so that her head was tucked under his bristly chin. “How can I… how can I make it better?”

**_...he makes it better… the Wolverine… better…_ **

“Huh?” Jean frowned and glanced around the room.

“What’s wrong?” he questioned.

“You didn’t hear that? The whispering?”

“Okay, you’re callin’ in sick,” Logan grunted, scooping her up and actually carrying her down to Hank’s lab.

 

“So? Can he help her?” Logan growled as Hank left the isolation cell. Xavier was still in there with Jean, probably doing some psychic bullshit.

“We’re going to try,” the blue furball sighed. “It’s Phoenix… she’s so stressed by her job and whatever other pressures she’s imposed on herself that she might not be able to hold it back anymore.”

“There’s gotta be somethin’ that can help.” Logan wasn’t sure if he was arguing or begging on this point. “Can’t let Jean hurt nobody, can’t let her hurt herself neither. Gotta be somethin’.”

“We’re going to try everything,” Hank promised. “I know you hate being here, so I’ll come tell you immediately if something changes.”

“No.” Logan shook his head. “I ain’t leavin’ until this shit gets fixed.”

“If you’re sure,” the furred doctor muttered, eyeing him skeptically.

Growling, Logan shoved past Hank and knocked on the glass window of the isolation cell. Jean and Xavier both looked at him from within, his friend with relief and the professor with vague annoyance. Even so, Chuck motioned with his fingers that Logan was free to come into the room.

“So what’s the verdict?” he inquired, leaving the door open behind him so he wouldn’t feel as trapped.

“Phoenix is exercising its power,” Charles began.

“Yeah, ’cause she’s stressed and shit. Hank already said all’a that.”

“Professor Xavier thinks he can build some psychic walls in my brain to keep Phoenix in,” Jean interjected. Her hands were still shaking a little.

“No, don’t do that,” Logan insisted. “And you shouldn’t even stay in here like you’re sick when you ain’t.”

“Logan-”

“Zip it, Chuck. Just fuckin’ trust me here, alright? I think I know how to fix this.”

“Her mutation isn’t under control,” Xavier tried to protest.

“That ain’t the problem,” he argued. “Look, just… gimme a chance on this. I got an idea.”

Half an hour later they’d finally gotten things set up for at least the next couple days - a spare TV set, the sleeping bag Logan had been given during their camping trip in June, snack foods of varying content, and a metric fuckton of that citrus tea Jean liked. They would just be hanging out in her bedroom while Logan tried his impulsive plan.

“Just remember, I start growlin’ or scratchin’ in my sleep, vacate the area,” Logan reminded her as he sat down on the floor. He had his album-in-progress and the latest pile of unsorted Polaroids spread across his bedding.

“So what exactly is the point of this?” Jean questioned.

“You’re takin’ a fuckin’ break,” he told her bluntly. “That’s it. You’re takin’ a fuckin’ break, and I’mma help you get a grip on shit, you understand? It’s a real simple idea, and it’s one I figured out a few months before you and Chuck snatched me outta Canada: the monster in you ain’t it’s own thing. It’s part’a you, like your eyes and your fingers and everythin’ else. So you just learn to work with it same as how you move your eyes or curl your fingers.”

Jean’s eyebrows went straight up: “That’s really insightful.”

“Well, I didn’t have too much choice,” he admitted. “It was either come to grips with that idea, or completely lose my fuckin’ mind. I’m kinda thinkin’ you’re havin’ the same problem right now. ’Course, the place I was livin’ and workin’ weren’t really safe for figurin’ shit out in. You _are_ safe here, so it’ll prob’ly go better for you.”

Jean smiled at him, a very warm and maybe even _fond_ look: “Well, thank you for being safe for me, Logan.”

“That sounds familiar,” he frowned, which got her chuckling at him.

“It should, you said it to me once a few years ago.”

Logan snorted. “I don’t even remember that.”

“Well, you were really drunk,” Jean shrugged dismissively. “It’s not important. Hey, do you want some help with that?”

“What? No! You need to relax and shit,” he insisted.

“If you say so,” she laughed, reaching for the TV remote.

 

 _Maybe she ain’t doin’ it on purpose,_ Logan suddenly realized.

Day 2 of forcing Jean to take a fucking rest from her overwhelming life had just ended, and now she’d fallen asleep against his side, both sitting against the headboard of her bed and watching mindless late-night shit on TV. Now there was absolutely nothing, either those stupidly-long commercials for worthless bullshit or the stations that still signed off like everyone used to in saner years. But Logan kept flipping anyway, since it was his only distraction from Jean’s dreams playing behind his eyes.

Her thoughts sounded off from around his ears every so often, maybe a few times a week; he could taste her snacks in the back of his throat, smell the tea or coffee she drank from floors apart. Now even her sleeping mind seemed to be mixing with his - not trespassing, though, because this wasn’t hostile. Logan was reaching the conclusion that it wasn’t voluntary, and he wondered how much of him she had to keep out of her brain, too, if it went both ways.

Slowly, like pancake batter pouring from a bowl into the pan (this rare burst of imagination courtesy of being roped into helping make breakfast for the kids who stayed over summer break), Logan could feel himself getting sucked further into Jean’s subconscious wanderings. It wasn’t the terrifying shades of blood and rage that echoed through his clouded nightmares, though… more like feelings, stray ideas that made no sense and had no context.

Warm. Warm, safe. Or maybe not. It may not be safe after all.

Darkness.

The dark makes safety and warmth.

But then the light creeps in.

The coldness and the light shows that there’s nothing safe.

Fire. Brightness and heat. It makes everything clean again, new again, to create the safety.

Jean startled half-awake in his arms, and Logan cradled her to him, smelling her fear. She’d mentioned nightmares - not as bad as his, of course - and that they had fire. Was this one of those? He wasn’t sure. Nothing about it had been all that horrific, not like the ones he suffered every time his eyes closed.

“Logan?” Jean mumbled, pressing closer to him. “You okay?”

“I’m here, it’s fine,” he whispered, unable to stop himself from nuzzling the top of her head a little. “It’s safe, I promise, I’m right here. Go back to sleep, baby.”

Jean grunted her assent, cuddling right up to him with her arms around his trunk and her ear to his breastbone. He’d noticed that she moved a little bit in her sleep, but not all that much and sometimes she didn’t at all. It made no difference. Logan would be like a boulder and never move again if Jean didn’t want him to.

* * *

18.

 

On the third day of Logan forcing Jean into virtual inertia, they practically had the mansion to themselves. Professor Xavier had taken Hank and Peter to meet with Erik about something, the handful of kids still at the school were out with Ororo and Warren on some kind of overnight adventure (not as exciting or long as the camping trip had been, though), and of course the majority of teachers were also home for the summer. That meant it was Jean, Logan, Scott, and Kurt.

And this arrangement saw her entering the kitchen to find two of her friends fighting over sandwich meat, and Kurt desperately trying to referee.

“You’re the one usually eats fuckin’ skinless chicken, why do you gotta have the roast beef _now_ allofa sudden?” Logan demanded - his fists were clenched, clearly a step from actually letting out the claws.

“Last time I looked, this is still a free country, and I can decide to treat myself once in awhile if I so choose,” Scott retorted in the condescending tone he always rolled out specially for Logan.

“Boys!” Jean shouted, stopping both of them. “I’m fairly certain there’s an easy way to resolve this.” She scooped up the roast beef, rolled the slices into a tube, and promptly ate it herself on the spot before smiling at her friends. “There! Problem solved.”

Logan huffed a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a growl, clearly impressed by how ingeniously she’d fixed the situation while still irritated with Scott. But at least they weren’t about to kill each other anymore. Scott, on the other hand, just folded his arms across his chest and looked indignant. Kurt actually did laugh, of course.

“Now what am I gonna put on my sandwich?” Logan groused.

“Whatever you want,” Jean shrugged with a rare smirk. “As long as you stop fighting with each other over stupid things like cold cuts.”

“Yes, there are much better things you could argue about,” Kurt joked, very unhelpfully.

“Like how Logan carves rocks into teddy bears during his spare time?” Scott suggested.

A very predictable “ _What!?_ ” was bellowed by Logan in response to that, followed by the claws less than a second behind the word.

“Peter was taking a run one morning and saw you,” the young teacher shrugged. “It’s not my fault he can’t keep his mouth shut about anything he sees anyone doing. But really, why _do_ you carve rocks into teddy bears? That’s just so… _girly_ for a Wolverine, don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah, you’d know girly, right? That’s why you fuckin’ obsess how nice you gotta look even on weekends, you prissy little faggot,” Logan snarled, pulling his claws back into his hands for the express purpose of pushing Scott hard into a counter before storming off in a rage.

Kurt seemed infinitely more hurt by that comment than his boyfriend, who just looked surprised and annoyed. Jean was extremely insulted on behalf of them, though, especially because this wasn’t normal behavior for Logan. She’d never seen him act so judgmental towards the pair before now, and it was such a low blow at something they couldn’t even control.

“I’m really sorry he said that, I’m not sure what’s wrong with him,” Jean apologized, brushing Kurt’s arm with her hand.

“He’s just a schmuck,” Scott muttered dismissively, taking Kurt by the hand and leaving the room with him.

Furious, Jean stomped after Logan to confront him about his terrible behavior and eventually found him in the woods, throwing rocks and sticks at small animals. Another extremely out-of-character move for him; Logan had more respect for wildlife than he did for most people.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Jean demanded, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him to face her. “Why did you say that to Scott?”

“Because he’s a shit and I don’t like him,” Logan grunted indifferently. “Don’t ask dumb questions.”

Jean shoved him, hard enough that he actually had to take a half-step back to keep his balance.

“I don’t care if you like him or not, you can’t treat other people that way, especially my friends!” she snapped, feeling the heat rise in her face. “Why am I the only one you ever treat with any god damn respect around here?”

“’Cause you’re the only one who’s fuckin’ earned it, that’s why,” Logan shouted, also losing his temper. “These fuckin’ people, spyin’ on me durin’ my alone-time and then makin’ fun’a me for it? Why the fuck should I give them my fuckin’ respect when they don’t give me none’a theirs? And you know what, fuck that, ’cause I sure as fuck didn’t ask them to treat me how they do. So fuck that, and fuck them, and fuck respectin’ them, ’cause it ain’t happenin’ and there’s nothin’ nobody can do to make me!”

In the course of his rant, Jean couldn’t pay attention to Logan’s outraged screaming, because the whispering in her head was drowning him out. So furious, so loud for whispers, but she couldn’t seem to hear anything else. And at the end of it, all she could even see was her own anger, like in her nightmares last night.

 **_...the fire…_ ** came the whispering. **_...make everything clean… build it all again, but better…_ **

 

Right as the last words left his mouth, Logan was muted by shock as Jean screamed with frustration in front of him before abruptly bursting into flames. It was there and not-there, a fire bird, gold-orange wings over her arms with the beak and talons of a raptor, blazing forth in terrible glory. He’d only heard her talk about it with reverent fear, but immediately recognized this creature.

Phoenix.

“Jean?” Logan tried, reaching out a hand…

...and in reward found himself flung backwards through at least three tree trunks.

 **_Wolverine,_ ** it boomed in his mind, derailing his entire train of thought. **_You are far too powerful for your own good, little man. You know too much. But those dainty claws of yours will not help you, now._ **

“Jean, you gotta do somethin’ about this before you burn the world down!” he yelled, even knowing it was useless.

 **_You know too much,_ ** it repeated, almost laughing at him. **_So you might help us. But we could always destroy you if you decide to be foolish. You’ve learned about us, through the visions in the night. About our purpose. We must cleanse this place, start over. It’s a cycle. If all is destroyed, we can rebuild, you see. To make it better. Perfect, even. To stop creatures such as En Sabah Nur from rising again._ **

It came back to Logan - Jean had said something about this, once, that maybe she could destroy the whole world by accident. This wouldn’t be an accident, though. Phoenix wanted to start from scratch.

But Logan had also been informed about Apocalypse to some detail, and maybe that was what he needed, here.

“Jean,” he called out, “please, hear me in there. This ain’t you, remember? Phoenix is like another arm or leg. It don’t gotta say in how you live. Don’t let it do this… Apocalypse had this goal, too, or somethin’ like it. To start over with what he thought’d be perfect. But it would’a only been perfect for him. Don’t let Phoenix be its own beast, you’re the one in charge. Remember that… you don’t gotta destroy me, or the world, or nothin’. You’re a doctor, you’re here to help, not to kill everyone.” Slowly, so slowly, he was approaching again. He couldn’t just hold still and watch this happen, not for the sake of the world or any of that shit, but just because he knew Jean needed his help and he would be there for her. “Jean… I know you’re still there, and you ain’t part’a Phoenix, Phoenix is part’a you, like I said. It’s gonna be okay once you remember who you are… it’s gonna be okay…”

 **_So strong for such an unimportant little animal,_ ** Phoenix was pushing against his brain, but he thought he could feel it weakening some.

Logan was within grabbing or clawing distance, but he did neither of those things. This was not an enemy to be cut down - this was his friend, the girl who’d set him free of his torturers, the woman who still tried to help him even now. He frantically scrambled in his mind for anything important she might’ve said to him over the years, resting his hands on her fiery shoulders. The pain was immediate as his flesh started burning away.

“Jean… this ain’t your fault… everybody fucks up sometimes, and that ain’t your fault. You’re so strong and so brave, and you’re so good, and you always been safe for me, so I’mma be safe for you and help you remember that you’re the one who’s in charge. It ain’t me and it ain’t Phoenix, it’s you, you understand? You’re in charge… you can get this back if you just remember you’re in charge…” His hands were nearly scorched to the bone, now, but he ignored it, leaning in to nuzzle her forehead and then briefly kiss it the way she’d done for him, once. And whisper the last handful of words he could come up with that might help. “Jean… Jean… I’m sorry for bein’ the way I am, and… I love you, okay? You know that.”

 

Whiteness.

Was she at work? No, the walls in her hospital were that awful, pukey green color, they weren’t white. She must be home, at the Xavier school.

Jean shifted her eyes slightly and realized she was lying back on something that wasn’t quite soft enough, staring up at the ceiling. She could hear two people talking at least a few feet away, very quietly.

Sitting up, she discovered medbay all around her - one of the gurneys underneath, a patient gown tied over her shoulders, a blanket draped across her legs. In the far corner, Hank was tending Logan of all people, taping gauze pads to parts of his face and then wrapping burn dressings from his fingers up to his elbows.

“You’re doin’ that on purpose,” Logan snapped, flinching away from the other feral mutant for what was probably not the first time with pain and annoyance twisting his face into a scowl.

“I’m not,” Hank replied calmly. “In actual fact, your ceaseless movements are the cause of your wounds’ irritation at the moment. So, for your own sake, I’ll suggest again that you make a better effort to hold still.”

Ducking behind the privacy screen, Jean slipped back into her clothes before approaching them. Logan was now snarling and almost audibly grinding his teeth.

“What happened?” she asked once she got reasonably close. “Are you going to be okay? Why aren’t you healing already?”

“Ain’t normal burns,” Logan shrugged, then winced. “Nothin’ to worry about. I’ll prob’ly be fine in a few days.”

“I’m glad to see you awake,” Hank smiled, finally securing the last stray piece of bandage. “How are you feeling?”

“Mainly confused,” Jean answered honestly. “Why am I here? Was there an attack on the school?”

“Not exactly,” the other doctor evaded. “There, you’re patched up. You may leave as soon as you see fit.”

“About fuckin’ time,” Logan grunted, glaring down at his injured hands and shaking his head like it was somehow their fault for being hurt.

“You’re cleared to leave as well,” Hank informed Jean, surprising her. “He’ll fill you in on the incident that landed you both here, and please check his dressings every so often to see how fast he’s healing.”

The whole situation, while initially strange, was now fairly unnerving, so Jean only nodded in agreement before following Logan out of the basement level.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” she questioned as they rode the elevator.

“I don’t got words.” He shook his head. “Think you should just look, it’ll be easier.”

Jean complied, and once she had the bandage-mittens on his hands made an unfortunate amount of sense. Logan had touched her and been terribly injured by Phoenix.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she told him immediately once she’d left his thoughts. “Oh my god, Logan, how could you let me hurt you like that?”

“It’s nothin’,” he shrugged, and incredibly he even smiled a little. “I was bein’ safe for you, like I said. That’s really all there is to it, y’know? And, uh, I’m sorry for bein’ mean to your friends. I know you were kinda mad over that, and then I was an ass about it to you. So it’s really my fault you got into trouble. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jean countered, resting her palms on his upper arms where he wasn’t hurt. “You talked me down from potentially killing everyone, so you don’t need to feel guilty. You’re a good man, you know. Whether you like it or not.”

They began walking slowly, not in any particular direction.

“I told Chuck awhile back that it ain’t really a control issue,” Logan offered. “More like, you just gotta understand it better. Let it off the leash every so often and you’ll be fine the rest’a the time, like maybe doin’ a really hard danger room program.”

“That’s what you do?”

“Well… I may also have killed some assholes from the FoH,” he grinned. “But I don’t think nobody missed them.”

Jean chuckled. “Probably not.” After a moment, she hesitantly changed the subject. “So what was the thing with the teddy bear?”

“Huh?”

“When Scott said you carve stones into teddy bears.”

“Oh, that. No. There’s just one I did. I finished it a couple days back… it was for my son.” Logan seemed to be deflating a little. “Figured it’d be nicer than some old piece’a wood, that’s all.”

Jean almost reached out to hold his hand like she always did, but then she remembered and held herself back.

“I think that’s really nice,” she commented. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“I ain’t embarrassed, I’m pissed,” he told her. “Don’t need everyone knowin’ about it. It’s none’a their business.”

After a second, Jean nodded. “You’re right, it’s really not,” she agreed. “I’ll try to get Scott to leave you alone, okay?”

Logan just shrugged again. “Whatever.”

* * *

19.

 

“Hey.”

Logan glanced up at Jean: “Hey.”

She sat beside him in the grass, smiling at the hack-job in front of them. “It’s cute, you did pretty good.”

“It looks like shit,” Logan grumbled. He was feeling argumentative this afternoon. “Can barely tell what it’s s’posed to fuckin’ look like.”

“You’re not mad at me,” Jean reminded him. “And it looks fine.” She paused briefly. “Can I know his name yet?”

“Only if you don’t never say it out loud,” he warned. “Nobody else needs to know I couldn’t save my own kid.”

“Okay,” she nodded, brushing the backs of her fingers along his bandaged wrist.

Logan sighed through his nose and thought it to her, clenching his burned hands into fists and relishing the pain - he could feel the movements ripping the wounds back open against the gauze wraps.

“It’s a nice name,” Jean commented. “Stop hurting yourself.” He watched her eyes fix on the botched teddy bear and then dust floating from it, smoothing all the surfaces to make it look much nicer than he could’ve managed on his own. “There.”

“Thank you,” Logan murmured, uncurling his fingers.

Jean shifted closer, leaning against him and then lightly kissing his left temple. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the lab even though he didn’t want to. It was all a blur of darkness, shadows in different colors of black, and then the exploding boom of a handgun that almost deafened him. Blood. They laughed, or he thought they did, as he was just screaming without words in outrage.

“Logan.” Jean’s voice broke him out, and he looked again. “It’s not going to help.”

“I can’t see him,” he whispered. “I only know the stupid parts, y’know? But not him. Just them and the guns and… and I know I saw it, ’cause after it happened I choked on my own sick, but… why can’t I remember _him?_ He’s the most important part, but he ain’t there no more.”

“That’s probably good,” she offered. “You shouldn’t have to remember him like that.”

“It’s the only time I ever saw him,” Logan protested. “Didn’t even know about him before that.”

“Logan, please, trust me on this. I’ve seen your nightmares… you don’t want to remember your son being murdered that way,” Jean insisted. “He’d be ten or eleven by now, right? He’d probably look a little older, though. He’d be really tall like you.”

“Maybe,” Logan shrugged.

“He’d probably look a lot like you, actually,” she speculated. “With your hair and your eyes. Your ears.”

“Ears?” he snorted, managing a smirk. “Why’re you lookin’ at my ears?”

“No, I’m just saying,” Jean chuckled. “Hey, I’m a doctor, okay? I had to learn all that crap about genetics in school, that’s all.”

“Admit it, you’re checkin’ me out,” Logan teased. He got to his feet and pulled Jean up after him so that they could start walking back inside.

“Maybe,” she offered.

“Wait, really?” He stopped moving to stare at her.

“What? You can’t really blame me, you’re a handsome guy,” Jean laughed, gently pulling him along by his hand and somehow managing not to hurt him in the process. “You’ve got that sort of scruffy lumberjack thing going on.”

“I used to be one,” Logan shrugged. “Did construction awhile, too. Don’t really remember much else. Anything besides was before the lab.”

“So what do you say your line of work is now whenever you have dating prospects?” Jean wondered.

“I don’t date,” he answered. “Never works out and I ain’t inter’sted in bar floozies.”

“Are you ever just going to admit you’re interested in _me?_ ” Jean boldly prodded.

“Already said I loved you,” Logan grunted, “durin’ the thing with Phoenix. How much more inter’sted do I gotta be?”

“Sorry, I don’t remember anything that happened during the Phoenix incident,” she admitted, glancing down for a second. “And for the record, I already knew you did.”

“Yeah, well… look, Jean. I ain’t lookin’ for nothin’ from you more’n you already give me, okay? I ain’t relationship material.” Logan pulled his hand from her grasp and couldn’t help but start walking a little faster. Her thoughts were in his head again and he started to panic. “Stop it. Stop, okay? I know you wanna help, ’cause that’s how you are, but you can’t do nothin’ else for me you ain’t already done. There’s no more help.”

“When are you going to stop letting fear rule your life?” Jean demanded. She grabbed onto the part of his sleeve that he’d rolled at the elbow.

“Y’know what, I will when you do,” Logan snapped, yanking his arm away and glaring.

Very randomly, she started to laugh in response. It was baffling.

“I guess you got me there, huh?” Jean giggled.

“I mean it,” he growled. “I ain’t lookin’ for nothin’, okay? Now you gotta lay off, I’m done talkin’ about this.”

“You’re still not actually mad at me,” she told him again. “Logan, listen to me, okay? You really need to sit down and rationalize some things for yourself. Not just what happened to your son in the lab, or how you feel about me, but also how you feel about yourself. I just wish you wouldn’t hate yourself as much as you do, because no matter how you slice it, you’re not a bad man.”

“But I still couldn’t save him,” Logan protested, still stuck on that one fact.

“You were chained to an operating table,” Jean countered, starting to sound exasperated. “There was absolutely nothing you could’ve done, okay? Absolutely nothing. And you need to get over it. It’s hard, and it sucks, and it’s always going to hurt, but you need to realize that it still happened that way and that you can’t change it.”

“I just want it to not’ve happened,” he admitted. “I wish I got him outta there… I mean, I never done much thinkin’ about havin’ kids or nothin’, but I would’a owned up to it as much as I could, y’know?” They were finally walking again, not looking at each other or touching. “I would’a took care’a him. Didn’t get the chance to be his dad, and somethin’ in me keeps sayin’ I prob’ly never will.”

“You don’t know,” Jean countered, hesitantly taking his hand again. “That’s not your gift.”

“Maybe not, don’t make it less true.”

“Hey, look at me.” He obeyed, finding her hands on either side of his face so that she could reach to kiss his forehead. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it’ll get better. You’re already about a thousand levels above where you were when you first got here, and someday everything that happened to you in the lab will stop being important to you at all.”

And then she kissed him.

It was brief, very chaste, and it shot tingling warmth through his whole being.

“Jean…”

“For what it’s worth,” she interrupted him, smiling, “I can’t handle a relationship right now either. But I bet that still made your day a lot better, right?”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed, unable to help his grin.


	4. End 1992-Start 1993.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for references to the torture of/experimentaion on children in this chapter.
> 
> Incidentally, just for perspective on all the references to shit in this segment, I wasn't even born until 1996. I've had to look up a lot of shit for this narrative so far.

20.

 

“How did I not notice these before?” Jean mused, playing with the tags on his neck.

“Don’t usually wear them,” Logan shrugged. “Feel like it sometimes, though. I think I got them someplace important.”

“The military?”

“Maybe,” he muttered. “Like I said, feels important.”

“I don’t think the dog tags are what’s important,” she speculated. “I think the important thing is what they used to represent. Maybe you’ll remember what they were for.”

“Doubt it,” Logan countered. “It’s been ten fuckin’ years since you got me out, baby. I think I got everythin’ I could outta my brain by now.”

“Hey, if you ever want help with that…”

“Yeah, I know the drill,” Logan chuckled, squeezing her to his side and kissing the top of her head. “It’s okay. I don’t wanna make things hard on you.”

The volume being turned up on the TV told them they’d accidentally started talking louder, so they shared a brief kiss before sitting back and returning their attention to the movie. The damn kids had gotten their hands on a VHS copy of _Terminator 2,_ and this was the second week in a row they’d insisted on featuring it for “movie night” in the main rec room.

 _First one’s better,_ Logan thought to her, receiving a mental chuckle in response.

 

 _37 Days Ago - December 1992  
_ “I’m fuckin’ sick’a this holiday.”

“I heard you the first five years,” Jean told him dismissively as she struggled to untangle a string of colored lights. God forbid anybody actually _help_ with this; somehow it always ended up being the two of them saddled with the annoying parts, like undoing the insane balls of cords or hacking down a tree and dragging it inside. “You’ll live.”

“Yeah, what if I don’t?” Logan prodded sarcastically.

“Then we’ll give you the best funeral any mutant has ever had,” she answered, only half paying attention to the banter. She was more interested in not tying her hands together by accident at the moment. “Feel free to quit your bitching at any time.”

“I’ll bitch if I feel like bitchin’,” he snarked back, eyeing her sideways for a second before shaking himself off like a wet dog and scattering snow across the room.

“You’re dripping all over the rugs,” Jean pointed out, grinning briefly as she made a small amount of progress for the first time in seven or eight straight minutes of screwing around with the damn lights. “The janitors are going to kick your ass again.”

“Don’t care,” Logan snorted, leaving the tree on its side and putting the stand on it first. She still wasn’t sure why he did it that way, because it just meant a lot of him yanking it every which way to straighten it out after. It usually took half an hour before it stood right and he’d scream himself hoarse from the swearing all the while. “’Cause this way it only takes me and there ain’t nobody else to get in the way.”

Ah, right. He could always hear her thinking these days, and neither of them could figure out how to turn it off. It was slightly less of a problem for Jean, surprisingly; Hank’s theory was that Logan’s metal skull provided some insulation. Even so, his inner workings leaked through fairly often. Unsurprisingly, his dreams were the worst.

“Stop it with the nightmares,” he growled. “I don’t like when you remember them for me.”

“Sorry,” Jean sighed, and tried to focus on something else.

Inevitably, this drew her back to the damn lights… and then, quite randomly, to Scott approaching.

 _I’m sure this won’t get ugly at all,_ Jean thought to herself as her friend appeared from the adjacent hallway.

“You know you’re doing that wrong,” were the first words out of Scott’s mouth.

Not only was this unhelpful, but deliberately antagonistic towards Logan. It made her wonder why, though, because the last time Scott and Logan had gotten into it had been on a mission. The ultimate result had been infirmary time for Scott after receiving a severe shoulder wound, multiple disciplinary actions for Logan, and Jean reading both of them the riot act (which had been about as effective as baby aspirin being used to treat a migraine).

The response was predictable: Logan reached for the nearest thing, threw it as hard as he could, and succeeded only in smashing what was probably a very expensive vase because Scott dodged fast enough.

“Will you both PLEASE STOP!” Jean screamed, throwing them onto their asses with a mental shove. “Scott, what do you want?”

“The professor asked me to check on your progress,” he answered, climbing hesitantly to his feet. “And to make sure the branches of the tree didn’t break a window like last year.”

“Instead of showing up just to pester him, you could actually help,” she snapped, fed up with the incessant conflict between her friends. It seemed to be escalating almost daily, especially after Logan had actually stabbed the team leader during a mission. “How about this, go get Peter and then _leave_ so that I don’t have to punish you both again.”

“Hey, what’d I do? I’m over here mindin’ my own business, he’s the one showin’ up just to cause problems,” Logan spat out.

“Don’t even think about letting those out,” Jean interrupted, glaring pointedly at his knuckles.

“He’s pissin’ me off,” Logan growled.

“Well, regardless, you need to stop taking out your anger management issues on the professor’s decor.”

“Helping or hurting, Scott?” Jean demanded. “Now look. Go get Peter like I said, and for the love of god if I catch you both in the same room again outside team meetings or meals you’re going to wish you only had to deal with each other. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” both grumbled in a rare moment of unity.

The unfortunate thing was that Jean knew Scott had come over with the sincere objective of making sure things were going well. She momentarily set aside the hopeless ball of lights to follow Scott out of the room.

“Tell me you don’t know you antagonize him,” Jean prodded as they walked.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t be true,” Scott offered with a slight grin in an unusual display of humor. Then he sighed. “Yeah, I know. I really try not to do it on purpose, but… you do know he _stabbed_ me last month, right?”

“Yes, I was there,” she answered dryly. “You’ve got to just avoid him so that you _don’t_ get stabbed again.”

“As usual, none of the blame rests with your boyfriend, right?”

“Okay. A, Logan’s not my boyfriend.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“Scott.”

“Sorry.”

“A, Logan’s not my boyfriend,” Jean repeated. “B, he was _completely_ at fault when he attacked you last month, and I’m not arguing that point. I’m not saying I don’t get it, Scott, okay? Yes, he was ignoring your orders and deliberately making your job harder. That doesn’t mean it was particularly smart of you to tell him that he’s…” She had to think for a second before she remembered. “... an arrogant rabid know-nothing who causes more problems than he solves, even if it happens to be slightly true sometimes.”

They both chuckled a little.

“I’m sorry for pissing you off,” Scott offered, still smiling. “That part’s not on purpose, at least.”

“I know,” Jean sighed. “I’ve been doing the danger room exercises but sometimes I still have too much energy. It makes it a lot harder to put up with crap from either of you.”

“Are they not hard enough? I can take a look at them if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. It’s not the difficulty as much as they don’t take me long enough to finish.”

“So about Logan…”

“Scott, really, I don’t-”

“Just hear me out, okay?” he insisted. “I promise it’s not me criticizing him some more.”

“Okay then,” Jean allowed.

“I really think you should just get on with it,” Scott began, which was confusing at first. “I don’t remember the last time I ran into you and he _wasn’t_ hanging around. I’m not saying I like him or that I want to be his friend, because I really, _really_ don’t. But I do like you, and you are my friend, so as much as I hate him, I really wish you’d stop dragging things out just date him already.”

Jean started laughing. “Really? Why are you so interested in my love life all of a sudden?”

“Like I said, you’re my friend. I want you to be happy,” he answered. “Besides, don’t you think I know what I’m talking about just a little? I’m actually _in_ a relationship, you know. I don’t get why most people give each other dating advice, it’s always somebody who’s either single or is having a terrible time with the person they’re dating.”

“That’s… oh my god, you’re right,” Jean chuckled. “I didn’t really notice that until you said it.”

“Well, I’m doing perfectly fine in that department,” Scott pointed out.

“You’re really cute together you know.”

“Thanks, but that’s not the point. Again, not his biggest fan, but even I can see that he gives you something the rest of us don’t, okay?”

Jean sighed. “Look… that’s not the issue. I’m not really in a position to try and have a relationship with anyone right now and neither is Logan. He’s still trying to work out a lot of his issues.”

“It’s been six years.”

“No, really?” she answered sarcastically. “Has it been six years? I never would’ve remembered that it’s been six years, it’s not like I’ve been putting up with his crap for that long or anything.”

“Okay, I get it,” Scott laughed, holding up his hands. “But can you at least think about it? Like I said, you’re my friend and I want you to be happy. And if Logan has the best shot at that, then you should probably be with him. Just saying.”

 

 _35 Days Ago - December 1992  
_ The only thing Logan liked about Christmas was sugar cookies.

“Mph, the red ones taste better,” he grunted around the thirtieth one he was cramming into his mouth. People were always surprised to see him indulging a sweet tooth because most of what he ate used to be part of a cow or a pig.

“It’s just food coloring,” Jean countered. “It’s all in your head.”

“Nope, I’m tellin’ you, the red ones taste better,” Logan insisted.

“If you say so,” she laughed, taping down the corner of the paper on the box in her lap. “You’re just lucky the kids like you as much as they do, they’re the ones to talked Ororo and Jubilee into baking an extra batch for you.”

“Really?” That surprised him. “I thought they bought these at Price Chopper or somethin’.”

“Of course not. Only the best cookies for their favorite professor,” Jean smilled.

“Don’t call me that,” Logan snorted. “I’m a glorified fuckin’ gym instructor, I don’t actually teach them nothin’.”

Jean peeled the backing off one of the shiny green bows and stuck it to the top of the present before scribbling the person’s name across in Sharpie. “Fine, be indignant, see if I care,” she chuckled. “Whether you like it or not, your students love you and they made sure you got the best batch of cookies.”

“Well maybe I don’t like them likin’ me,” he smirked, taking the next box off the pile and carelessly wrapping it.

“You love them,” Jean prodded, grinning until she saw the clusterfuck of paper and Scotch tape. “Oh my god, Logan, you can’t leave that the way it is! Here, give me that. Stop wrapping presents, you’ll make the students cry when they see them.”

Logan chuckled at that, dutifully relinquishing the gift and nodding as a means of promising not to wrap any more presents.

“You got somethin’ on your mind?” he asked after a second, feeling a little guilty for asking because he knew he’d just ruined their friendly afternoon. Dammit, it’d been such a good day for once and now he’d punctured it. Oh well. “I mean, you’re workin’ so hard not to think about it that you’re givin’ me a headache.”

“Sorry,” Jean mumbled, not looking at him. “It’s just something Scott said a couple of days ago, that’s all.”

Logan growled. “If he did somethin’ to piss you off, I’m gonna fuckin’ stab him again-”

“Stop it, I don’t want a repeat of that incident.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Look, it’s not important and I don’t think you want to hear it, that’s why I didn’t bring it up.”

“Come on,” he insisted, staring hard at her. “Spill, we both know it’s gonna happen sooner or later so why don’t you get it the fuck over with?”

Instead of actually telling him, Jean recalled the conversation and let it pass from her mind to his. Logan just sat for a minute.

“See why I didn’t want to bring it up?” she muttered.

“Uh… yeah, kinda,” he admitted. “All things considered, this might sound… mean, but for once I’m inclined to agree with the little prick. Why _aren’t_ we dating?”

Jean snorted. “You’re kidding me, right? That would probably be more of a burden on _you_ than on me at this point.”

“So?” Logan prodded.

“So, I’m a mess and you shouldn’t have to put up with my life.”

“Okay.” Logan squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the spot between them. “First, there’s no fuckin’ way you’re a bigger disaster area’n me.”

“I’m not getting into a pissing contest with you over that.”

“Hey, lemme finish,” he insisted. “I think you also forgot I already been helpin’ you handle your life for as long as you been dealin’ with my shit. It don’t just go one way. We’re in each other’s heads, for fuck’s sake. So stop bullshittin’ me about this. If you’re too scared to admit we pretty much already _are_ in a relationship minus the kissin’, just say so. And if you ever wanna grow the fuck up, just give the word. Until then, I need somethin’ to wash down all the cookies, you want anythin’ from the fridge?”

“Uh… no, I haven’t finished my coffee,” Jean answered blankly, staring through the wall.

Logan didn’t say anything else, leaving the rec room for the kitchen. Rummaging the fridge turned up bottled water, and he grabbed two - the first one was left unmolested, but the second he mixed with orange-flavored Tang powder because he knew Jean liked the flavor of it and eventually she’d run out of coffee. Even annoyed with her, he still wanted to take care of Jean and do nice things for her just because.

Logan forgot to be irritated once he got back, though - Jean was slumped with her head in her hands, and it took all of two seconds to get that it was because he was rude bastard with no tact.

“I got you somethin’ to drink anyway,” Logan offered, not really sure what else to say that wouldn’t just bother her more. “In case you don’t got any more coffee.”

“Huh? Oh. Thanks.”

He sighed: “I’m sorry, I could’a worded that better before.”

“No, don’t be,” Jean insisted, finally looking at him. She looked like she’d gotten stepped on by one of the sentinels in the danger room. “You were right. It’s not your fault that I’m being a wimp about this.”

Her choice of words made him chuckle some, but he knew she’d intended for that. “You’ve always been strong for everyone else around here, I think you’re prob’ly entitled to it every so often.”

“It just made me think about what happened this summer, and… I still feel really bad about that, you know. Those burns were awful, especially the ones on your face.”

“Hey, I chose that,” Logan reminded her, keeping his tone as gentle as he knew how. “I knew it would happen and I did it anyway. That pretty much takes you off the hook in my mind.”

“Yeah, but you always let me off the hook for everything,” Jean smiled.

Logan passed over the bottle of Tang and sat to her right, settling an arm across her shoulders to squeeze her a little. “I don’t do that for nobody else, y’know. You got special privileges and shit.”

“Well you know, there is a major problem with what Scott said.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m not sure you realize this, but in order for us to be dating, you have to actually ask me to go on a date with you,” Jean pointed out.

Logan made a noise that couldn’t decide whether it was a grunt or a laugh: “Fine, then. Um. Well, there ain’t any good movies comin’ out this month and I don’t feel like puttin’ up with the shit you go through to eat someplace nice, so that don’t leave much.”

“What, you don’t want to drag me off to one of those dive bars you like?” Jean teased.

“Yeah, right,” Logan snorted. “Bringin’ you to one’a them places? I’d hafta kill everyone in there once they started callin’ after you.”

“Wow, you’re so romantic I feel dizzy,” she told him dryly.

“Hey, I suck at that shit and there ain’t any hidin’ it,” he shrugged, indifferent. “You want romance, rent one’a them _Mannequin_ movies.”

“Ugh, no thanks.”

“Thought so.” Logan paused to think briefly. “Well, it ain’t traditional or nothin’, but what about doin’ a danger room session together? That count?”

Jean laughed. “You know what, sure, but only because I know you too well.”

* * *

21.

 

Looking in on him before she went to bed after a long shift, Jean was surprised to see Logan bent over his desk for something other than his Polaroid collection. In fact, he seemed to be doing _paperwork_ of all things.

“Is this really happening or am I having a stroke?” Jean teased, coming into Logan’s bedroom so she could peer over his shoulder.

“Blame the damn kids,” he growled. “Y’know, I feel like this is somethin’ that falls under racism or whatever.”

“Why, what is it?”

“Fuckin’ Hank and Chuck are at it again,” Logan groaned, leaning back in his chair to crack his spine briefly. “The students got this idea into their heads, so of course Wheels and the smurf lion over there jumped at the chance to make more work for me.”

“Okay, but what _is_ it?” Jean repeated.

“I been roped into coachin’ hockey next winter.”

“How is that racist?”

“I’m Canadian,” he pointed out. “And just ’cause I watch hockey don’t mean I know a damn thing about teachin’ teenagers how to fuckin’ play it. I don’t even remember if I know how to skate.”

“You’ll do fine,” Jean insisted, kissing his temple and smoothing down his hair a little. “Like you said, you’re Canadian. I’m sure you ran into a moose at one point who taught you how.”

“That ain’t funny,” Logan snapped.

“Oh come on, it is a little,” Jean snickered.

 

 _32 Days Ago - December 1992  
_ “Really? This is _really_ a thing you’re makin’ me do?” Logan groaned as he dropped into the seat.

“No, your students are making you,” Jean grinned.

Danger room co-op session aside, this was their first “real” date - helping chaperone the younger kids’ field trip to go see _Muppets’ Christmas Carol_ at the movie theater in Salem Center.

The rented school bus was soon filled with the excited chatter of elementary-school children, the rattle of the tire-chains against the street, Warren and Kurt’s failing attempts to calm their charges down, and Logan growling out complaints at regular intervals. Despite the ruckus, Jean was glad she’d managed to get the day off for this; even though she’d be 27 next month, she had a soft spot for the muppets.

As Warren and Logan herded the kids into the theater, Kurt read off the list of refreshments and Jean separately ordered two of their biggest things of popcorn; she’d seen Logan put away a bag and a half in one sitting without breaking a sweat.

“Are you sure you should only get two?” Kurt smiled while they waited at the counter.

“I don’t need more than a couple handfuls,” Jean shrugged.

“You know, I have supervised other trips to films, and the older students have a certain problem with actually watching the screen,” her friend joked.

“Oh, stop,” she chuckled. “Logan’s going to be much more interested in his food that trying to make out with me at the back of the theater.”

As it turned out, she was mostly right - while watching the movie, Jean absently fed Logan the popcorn, and he tended to lick the butter off her fingertips like a pet dog. She could feel, rather amusingly, that he did it on purpose because he was trying to get her attention.

Returning to the mansion after the movie was significantly less pleasant, because Hank was waiting for the four adults in the group.

“We have a mission.”

It was all that needed to be said; they immediately made their way to the basement level and were made to suit up because Scott would brief them on the flight.

 _*This must be serious,*_ Jean thought to Logan from the other side of the wall in the locker room. _*What do you think it is this time?*_

 _Who fuckin’ cares, at least wherever we’re goin’ don’t have sticky-ass floors from all the old candy people drop,_ he replied.

_*I don’t even know how you noticed that when your boots are caked with all that mud.*_

“Professor Xavier was contacted by Agent MacTaggert sixty-eight minutes ago,” Scott began as they were lifting off. “Apparently the CIA has a lead on a group who may be holding mutant children captive.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Logan bristled, maintaining his furious demeanor for all of four seconds before he was plunging his face back into the airsickness bag.

“Sixty-eight minutes?” Jean parroted, alarmed. “We were still out on the field trip. Why didn’t you try to contact us sooner?”

“The professor needed time to get all the details straightened out,” Scott answered. “Besides, how would we tell you what’s going on? This isn’t _Star Trek,_ we don’t have those things we can just tap on our shirts to talk. Anyway, back on track, we’re following said lead given to us by MacTaggart. She wasn’t able to tell us everything, but we need to find those kids. The longer we stall doing reconnaissance, the longer they’re probably being tortured, and I’m sure that’s not something any of us wants.”

Logan finally stopped puking long enough to engage in the mission briefing again: “Are these more’a Stryker’s goons, or do you even know _that_ much?”

“It may be a related organization,” Scott allowed, frowning around his combat visor. “That makes it even more imperative for you to follow orders on this mission, Wolverine. I just want to be clear on that.”

“Yeah, fuck you and your orders, Slim. I’mma do what it takes to get those kids outta there and you better not get in my fuckin’ way while I’m doin’ it.”

“I’m sorry, are _you_ the one Professor Xavier put in charge?” Scott snapped.

Logan was gagging and choking again, so Jean reluctantly stepped in on his behalf.

_*Scott. Remember the thing with the teddy bear? This falls under the same category. You have to let this one go.*_

“That’s it, everyone. Remember to stay sharp on this one.” _Why am I letting this one go? He just defied my orders in front of everyone! AGAIN!_

Jean sighed internally and addressed her boyfriend instead. _*Scott’s asking questions, Logan. I need to tell him the truth.*_

_Absolutely not._

_*Did that sound like I was asking? Just trust me. He won’t say anything if I just explain it to him.*_

Logan growled, knotting the bag shut and stowing it under his seat. Jean took that as consent and switched her attention back to Scott.

_*The teddy bear he made out of a rock was actually a headstone. He made it to remember his son who got killed in one of these labs. You need to leave this issue alone.*_

_Oh my god…_ Scott almost looked like he was shrinking. _I’m sorry._

_*I’m probably not the one you need to apologize to.*_

_How am I supposed to save face about this? I can’t chew him out in front of everyone now…_

_*Then do it in private,*_ Jean suggested impatiently.

Even with the insane speed of the jet, the trip seemed to take longer than it needed to. And of course, Scott didn’t waste a second once they’d touched down: “Wolverine, a word please?”

The pair stalked off to enough of a distance that nobody else would be able to hear them, but Jean still knew exactly what was said from being attached to Logan’s thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re what now?” Logan snorted.

“Look, Jean told me. I get why you’re being this way-”

“Oh you do, huh?” Logan hissed. “I’m fuckin’ sure you get it, Slim. You been in that situation before?”

“No, I haven’t,” Scott ground out, “but what I meant was that I can see how this type of mission isn’t easy for you. That doesn’t mean you get a free pass on my orders.”

 _Oh, Scott, you really don’t know when to stop, do you?_ Jean thought, rolling her eyes.

“I already said before. Fuck you and your fuckin’ orders. I’mma do what it takes in that place and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

The two returned and Scott led the team to the insertion point: “This is an underground location. Angel, your abilities aren’t ideal for this, so you’re on guard duty. Mystique, Storm, you’re on intelligence detail. Beast, Nightcrawler, on me - we’re going to find the people in charge of this operation for interrogation. Wolverine, Phoenix, locate and extract the prisoners. Everyone needs to maintain constant radio contact. Let’s go.”

They broke off from each other for their separate objectives, and right away Jean was struggling to keep up with Logan. It gave her a vague sense of deja vu, hallways now decorated with gore and dismembered limbs as her boyfriend rampaged mercilessly through the guards.

 _*Logan!*_ Jean shouted after him. _*Slow down! We need to find the kids!*_

 _I can smell them,_ was all he said on the issue.

The radio chatter in her left ear clashed with Logan’s bellows of rage in her right, drowning out her ability to think as she chased after him. Given the situation, she half expected someone to be frantically calling out “Weapon X is loose!” over the intercom again.

Once Jean had finally caught up with him, she was almost taken off guard by the fact that he’d stopped going berserk. It seemed to flick on and off like a light switch, because now he was hacking padlocks free of cell doors and carefully extracting the underage prisoners from within. His uniform was sticky with blood and they must’ve heard him roaring during his approach, but now the claws were hidden again and he was murmuring comfort to them as he reached out.

The kids were all between ten and thirteen years old, obviously new to their mutations, and without exception they let Logan help them. Many of them had scarring over their faces or arms, at least one sported a poorly-sutured and infected surgical wound, and those were the least horrific things Jean saw about them.

“Okay. Okay, c’mon, we’re gettin’ you outta here, gonna bring you someplace safe,” he promised them.

Jean pressed her fingertip to the button of her earpiece. “Beast, this is Phoenix. We have mass casualties and need assistance.”

[On my way,] Hank replied immediately.

“This ain’t all’a them,” Logan growled as they led the torture subjects out of the bunker. “There’s so many…”

“It’s okay, we’ll free them.”

“Damn straight.”

Jean did what she could given the limited resources on the jet, and once Hank finally made it over she was free to chase after Logan again. It took almost fifteen minutes to catch up, and when she had it didn’t take much to figure out why he’d stopped.

“We’re too late,” Logan told her quietly. “We got here too late.”

The subjects in this row of holding cells were dead.

“Come on, there could be more further down,” Jean urged, pulling on his wrist.

One last disgusted and horrified glance into the cells made her freeze, and then she panicked because she figured out what had happened.

“They’re doin’ it right now,” Logan gasped, reaching the same conclusion.

They hurtled down the hallway as fast as their legs could move, and seconds after the shooting started Jean and Logan smashed through the containment doors into the next holding area. Jean was good at her job during missions, making sure she still got in regular training despite her long hours at the hospital, but nothing could compare to the reflexes and adrenaline-boosted rage in Logan. His claws were flashing in all directions, sending blood and shredded meat flying out everywhere. Jean, on the other hand, telekinetically snapped open all the locks that still held living prisoners.

A mental suggestion got them fleeing towards the jet - Jean hated resorting to it, but she was the only one keeping pace with Logan and someone would need to get him back once the mission was done.

[Phoenix, this is Cyclops.]

“Go ahead,” she acknowledged.

[We found some plans by incidental contact. There should be four groups of cages for the kids and an adjacent laboratory, attached to the lab will be three separate operating theaters and a postmortem exam room.]

“Understood,” Jean replied before psychically relaying this update to Logan.

He’d already moved on once she got to the fourth block of cells, and at first glance what she saw wasn’t anything new - blood sprayed across the walls and the cell bars. Something was off about it, though - where were the bodies? There were no dead soldiers, not even sliced-up pieces of them, and somehow the prisoners were absent as well. Looking a little closer, Jean realized that all the blood was old. This holding block had already been emptied a long time ago.

Filing that information away for later, Jean found Logan eviscerating someone in a lab coat, drawing out the motion and clearly taking sick joy in the anguished screams. Even more horribly, Jean knew she’d never consider stopping Logan from doing this. It was probably the only closure he’d ever receive for the things that had been done to him.

* * *

22.

 

 _29 Days Ago - December 1992  
_ “You’re okay,” Jean encouraged as she brought in the kid he’d be talking with for today. She ruffled the little boy’s hair and came over to Logan for a brief kiss. “I have to go to work, I’ll be back at eight tonight.”

“Okay,” he nodded. Once she’d left he returned his attention to the kid - this was the youngest prisoner they’d recovered, less than nine years old. He wondered why it’d taken two days to finally bring this kid in, because it seemed like this should’ve been the first case. “So, how’re you likin’ it here so far?”

“It’s okay,” the kid shrugged, watching the floor.

“Just ‘okay?’ Y’know when I first got here, I didn’t like it too much, neither. But that’s just ’cause it was new.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Logan leaned his back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “You wanna tell me your name, kid?”

“Darren.”

“Hey, Darren, I’m Logan,” he offered, motioning towards the couch so that Darren could sit down if he wanted. “Got a last name? We’re tryna find your parents.”

“I don’t have parents,” Darren mumbled, accepting the offer of the couch. “I was waiting for some. The people at the orphanage told me that I might get some, soon, but the man who came there took me to… to that place.”

“That’s rough,” Logan nodded, trying not to break into another fit of rage.

This whole setup had been Chuck’s doing, figuring that since Logan had been the one to free them he’d be the best guy for these kids to talk to now that they’d gotten out. He’d spent all of yesterday doing this, too, but somehow even after the first eight fucking kids this wasn’t any easier for number nine. At least Darren would be the last one.

“So wait, um, were you there?” Darren almost whispered.

“Yup,” Logan nodded. “I was there. And, uh, believe it or not, only reason I was there was ’cause I knew there’d be a bunch’a kids like you and I wanted to get you all out.”

“Did everyone get out?”

“No.” Logan sighed. “We could only get half’a you guys. The others were killed before we could save them.” He came over in front of Darren and crouched so that they were on the same level. “I bet you think I don’t know how it was down there, but I do. I came from one’a those labs. So, uh… I get it, okay? I know how it is for you right now. But I been here six and a half years so far, and they ain’t done nothin’ bad to me. So you can trust these guys.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they’re good people,” Logan nodded.

Darren’s eyes shifted to his knuckles, and Logan knew what the next question would be; the other eight kids had all asked, too. “Can I see?”

“Sure.” Logan balled his left hand into a fist and slowly let the blades slide free. “Don’t touch, though, okay? They’re sharp enough to cut your fingers off, and I don’t think neither of us wants that.”

“That’s cool,” Darren grinned.

“Not really. It hurts when they come out. Y’know, they weren’t always made outta metal. The metal got put onto them when I was locked up like you.”

“They made your knives metal?”

“Not just the claws,” Logan informed. “My whole skeleton.” He retracted them. “So y’know, if you could see under my skin, all’a my bones would be shiny.”

“Are they gonna let me stay here, Logan?”

“Well, why wouldn’t they?”

“Because I’m not special like you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not a mutant.”

“Then… wait, why were you bein’ held there?”

“Um, Joy said it’s because that way they could have normal tests or something. Mine would look different from when the special kids got tested.”

Of course Darren had been next to Joy. Logan wasn’t terribly fond of that girl and he’d only met her for real yesterday afternoon.

“How about this, I’mma talk to some people for you and see if you can still stay here with us. Okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Darren nodded.

As Logan stood back up, Darren hugged his leg for a second. This was always the part that got to him most - all nine of these kids, even Joy, thought he was some kind of savior. It wasn’t even true; Agent MacTaggart had given them the lead, Scott Fucking Summers had run the mission, and in truth Logan’s priorities had been split between rescuing the kids and slaughtering the troopers and scientists. There had been eighteen children down in that bunker, and Logan could only free nine of them. If he’d been more on the ball, maybe he could’ve saved all eighteen; as it stood, only half had been extracted.

Logan sighed through his nose. “C’mon, you want ice cream or somethin’?”

“Yeah.”

After handing Darren a heaped bowl that the kid couldn’t possibly finish, Logan made for the kitchen phone and checked the taped-on list of internal numbers.

“Medlab.”

“Hank, can you look at the files for these kids? Darren claims he ain’t a mutant and that don’t sound right to me.”

“Logan, I’m extremely busy putting together the data from the other intelligence we recovered-”

“NOW, HANK!” he roared.

“It’s not my first priority at the moment, I’m sorry.”

“Well, fuck your priorities, I gotta know what the fuck it is I’m dealin’ with up here,” he snapped. “Don’t make me come down there, you ain’t gonna like what happens if I do.”

There was an annoyed huff. “Please give me a moment to find it.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, Logan smirked when he saw that Darren had already wolfed down half the bowl and showed no signs of slowing down. He should’ve realized that a little kid would be able to accomplish something like that.

“Alright, I’m looking it over,” Hank informed him. “According to… ah, I see. They gained custody of him once a blood test had been run. Darren does possess an x-gene, but it’s either in a dormant state or simply hasn’t come to the fore yet. He’s much younger than most children who manifest, and if it’s not dormant he won’t show signs of mutation for another two years at the least.”

“How the fuck did they manage to run tests on him if they didn’t have him yet?”

“Well… this particular group has ties to the FoH,” Hank explained. “And the orphanage is a front for them as well. So, the Friends of Humanity can do whatever they like regarding the population of the children’s home while the researchers in the lab pass along any… I hesitate to use these terms, but in their eyes it would be any potentially useful data. Agent MacTaggert has contacts who are looking into it as we speak, and after studying the information Raven and Ororo recovered, this does indeed look strongly connected to Colonel Stryker and his organization.”

“Fuck me runnin’,” Logan snarled. “I knew he’d be fuckin’ part’a this somehow. Do we know where he is? I got a score to settle with that prick!”

“Logan, please, calm yourself. Stryker has been off the CIA’s radar for almost a decade, it’s unlikely we’re going to find him at this point unless we obtain further intelligence as to his whereabouts. I doubt he’s even still on the continent at this point.”

“Look, furball-”

“Logan,” Hank interrupted. “Please calm yourself as best you can, and believe me when I say we’re following up every single lead as fast as I’m uncovering them from these documents. You need to be patient.”

The phone was hung up on the other side, causing Logan to growl and slam down the receiver. Then he sighed and looked back at Darren, who was watching him anxiously from the kitchen table.

“It’s okay,” he insisted, struggling to get a grip on himself. “So, hey, Hank says you might be special after all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you just won’t know it for a couple years. Let’s go talk to the professor about you stayin’ here.”

* * *

23.

 

“Excuse me? Sir?”

“Huh?”

Logan turned to look and found some high school-age kid at his elbow.

“Can I help you find something today?”

“Uh… do you guys have brownies already made, or just the damn box-mix?” he asked.

“Well, you could check the bakery, it’s over there by the…”

Logan was already walking. There was no fucking excuse for the fact that there seemed to be thirty thousand brands of brownie mix, because that was just about the most unhelpful thing he’d had to deal with today… until he got to the bakery section of the store and discovered that no, they didn’t have premade brownies. That meant he’d have to pick a mix and then ask someone to make the things for him.

In the end, he just grabbed one at random, paid for his groceries, and went back to see about getting them cooked.

“Sweet tooth much?”

He looked from the directions to see Ororo coming into the kitchen and clearly doing her best not to laugh at him.

“Y’know what, instead’a makin’ fun’a me, you could help,” Logan snapped.

“Here, let me see.” She scanned the box and this time did end up laughing. “Why didn’t you just ask for help? Here, go chase your students around the gym for a couple of hours. I can take care of this.”

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

“Not at all. Come on, have I ever tried to trick you before?”

Logan just growled, which was apparently the wrong answer because then Ororo took upon herself to _teach_ him how to make the damn brownies. He wasn’t in much of a position to argue, though; aside from really needing this to get done, they both knew she was powerful enough to kick his ass six ways from Sunday. She’d done it before during training skirmishes more than once.

“...and see how it’s clean?” She pulled the toothpick out. “That means they’re done.”

“Great. Where can I put them that the kids ain’t gonna find them?”

“I can hold onto them for you,” Ororo offered. “Just come find me when Jean gets home from work, I’ll look for some candles.”

Logan sighed. “Thanks.”

The wait for Jean’s shift to end was annoying, especially after discovering that the team was already planning on throwing her a party. That made his whole outing at Price Chopper completely pointless.

At said birthday party, while struggling not to start drinking because that always pissed Jean off, Logan was also this close to getting into it with Ororo: “Why the fuck didn’t you give me a heads up?”

“Because it was a surprise,” she answered. “And anything you know, Jean knows. So we couldn’t tell you.” She rolled her eyes at him when he growled. “It’ll be fine, Logan.”

He ducked out for a minute to smoke, indifferent to how cold the nights were in January. Anything to get away from fucking parties; if he wanted to stand in the corner wishing he was getting drunk instead, he’d go to Scott’s weekly team meetings where nothing important was ever brought up.

One cigar later, Logan reluctantly went back and waited in the corner he’d previously occupied for the remaining twenty minutes.

“Think even louder about booze than you already are,” Jean told him sarcastically as they went upstairs.

“I can try if you really want me to,” Logan grunted. “I was gonna do somethin’ nice for you once you got off work, but the team beat me to it.”

“That’s okay, I didn’t have any of the snacks. It was all junk food.”

“And if cake dropped off the face’a the earth tomorrow, you wouldn’t care,” Logan remembered. “That’s why I didn’t get cake.”

“No, you got Ororo to make brownies,” she smiled. “It’s okay, you can run over and grab them. I’ll wait.”

Jean’s nightmares usually had fire in them (thanks, Phoenix), so Logan didn’t actually light any of the candles. He’d also bought her a chicken cesar salad because she didn’t like food that was bad for her, even when she _did_ like it.

“This is nice, Logan, thank you,” Jean smiled as he carved out two large brownies with a claw.

“Welcome,” he muttered. “Think I could’a done better. I didn’t get you anythin’.”

“That’s okay, I don’t really need presents,” she remarked.

They sat for awhile on the floor of Jean’s bedroom, picking at the brownies while she bitched about her day at work like always. Logan hadn’t ever really been bothered by that, though. She was just blowing off steam and it would only be for a few more months anyway.

Logan would’ve just stayed and watched shitty late-night TV with her before she fell asleep like always, but his gym classes were running an obstacle course tomorrow so he needed to wake up early and get everything in place. So he gave Jean a kiss, wished her happy birthday, and grudgingly went to his own room for some sleep.

 

 _18 Days Ago - December 1992  
_ “It’s only four more days, it’s only four more days…”

“If you keep muttering to yourself, we’re going to be sure that you’re crazy,” Jean joked from across the table.

“You know, if I have to hear ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’ one more time, I probably _will_ go crazy,” Warren complained, tucking his metal-feathered limbs against the back of his chair. “It’s like there’s only five damn Christmas songs on the whole planet or something.” Kurt teleported into the room two feet from the winged X-Man at that moment, sending him falling out of his seat. “Jesus! Give a guy some warning next time!”

“Sorry,” Kurt replied, clearly not apologetic in the slightest as he took his own chair.

As always, Logan refused to turn up for the weekly team briefing, although when Scott started talking Jean was sure he would’ve actually wanted to come to this one.

“Alright,” Scott began. “Two weeks ago, we managed to gather a sizable amount of intelligence regarding the Friends of Humanity from the bunker in Wyoming. Agent MacTaggert’s team, Dr. McCoy and myself have been going through all the documents we recovered from the site. We seem to have gotten all the important details by this point, so I’m going to lay out the major points for everyone. The location of at least one other secure facility is being raided by the CIA as we speak-”

“I thought they have no authority over things like that here in the US?” Jean interrupted.

“This one was located in northeast Canada,” Scott answered. “Anyway. Like I said, they’re shutting it down right now and Agent MacTaggert is going to let us know how that went as soon as it’s over. Moving on to the Friends of Humanity, we’re looking into all their known locations, but Quicksilver and Mystique’s reconnaissance hasn’t turned up anything yet. It seems they’ve been warned ahead of time somehow and have vacated the sites we know about. We’re also trying to uncover more information on the network of laboratory sites and military bunkers, but so far all we have is that they’re known internationally as the Alkali-Transigen company and that there may have been an incident they dealt with a few years back that wasn’t related to us. Apparently some amount of genetic samples and test subject data was stolen from them by the Nathaniel Essex Corporation, but as of right now we know even less about that organization than we do about Alkali-Transigen or how the FoH is related to all of this. What are your questions?”

“How long ago did that happen? I think right before Magneto buzzed off to do his own thing I overheard him and the professor talking about something to do with Alkali,” Warren commented.

“Actually... “ Scott paused. “Wow. You may have actually just drawn a connection for us.” The team leader picked up the internal line. “Hey, Hank, it’s Scott. Can you and Professor Xavier meet us down here for the meeting? See if you can grab Logan, too, he might actually be useful on this one. Alright. Thanks.”

“Okay, can you tell me how what I said was helpful?” Warren demanded as Scott set the phone back down.

“Alkali Lake is the location of the bunker we drove Stryker out of.”

It wasn’t long until Charles and Hank joined them, but Logan remained conspicuously absent. The professor took a couple minutes to fill them in on his conversation with Erik, and some of the pieces seemed to be filling in at last.

“So let me see if I have the major facts,” Scott told them, folding his hands across the stack of papers on the table in front of him. “Fact number one, Alkali-Transigen and the Friends of Humanity are working together trying to exterminate all people carrying the x-gene.”

“It would seem so, yes,” Hank agreed. He adjusted his glasses and frowned. “If need be, I’m willing to return to the Alkali laboratory with one or two others. It’s been a very long time, of course, but we might be able to turn something up.”

“Out of the question.” Xavier shook his head. “None of us have been there since the incident with Apocalypse, they may have re-established a presence there. It’s too great of a risk.”

“Excuse me, what?” Jean interrupted. “Did you just say that in the last decade, nobody’s been bothering to keep tabs on that bunker?”

“We haven’t had the resources to do so,” Hank shook his head. “There’s nobody with enough time on their hands to babysit a decrepit military facility that isn’t even in our country.”

“Well, what about the CIA? Agent MacTaggert was held there too, shouldn’t she have at least checked in on it once in awhile?”

“Please, everyone, let’s get back on track,” Scott interjected, raising his hands a little. “Regardless, we will eventually look into that site again to make sure it stayed empty. For the time being, we have more dangerous targets that require assessments. After what happened in that bunker, I don’t think anyone’s in too big of a hurry to go poking around down there anytime soon as it is.”

“Wow, that’s-that’s incredible,” Jean remarked. She was so angry at Scott’s lack of concern that her hands were shaking. “I don’t believe this. And before you say anything about Logan, I’d like to point out that other mutants were tortured and _killed_ at that base for years before we ended up there. I feel like that warrants a better response than ‘we’ll get there sooner or later,’ don’t you?”

“Do we even have proof of that besides what your boyfriend’s spotty memories can tell us?” Warren asked, defending the team leader.

That had been exactly the wrong thing to say - Jean didn’t know how much more of this she could listen to and keep herself from very literally exploding.

“Well, since you brought it up, yes, we do have more proof than that,” she snapped. “While I was there with Scott and Kurt trying to find a way to free the others, I picked up more than a few stray thoughts from the soldiers regarding this-and-such of an experiment failing or whichever test subjects they’d just seen killed the day before. Because stuff like that was _funny_ to them. The _liked_ seeing innocent people get tortured to death. And again, since you brought it up, the only reason Logan didn’t end up like the rest of those test subjects is because his mutation wouldn’t _let_ him _die._ So forgive me for being more than a little concerned with the fact that _nobody else seems to care about this!_ ”

At her last words, everyone and their chairs were thrown back against the walls, all of Scott’s paperwork scattered wildly across the room, and the glass surface of the table webbed with tiny cracks. The whole group made as much noise as the inside of a grave while the pages fluttered lazily to the floor, and Jean realized that somewhere along the line she’d stood up. Hesitantly, she retrieved her chair and settled back into it, afraid to meet anyone’s eyes. She didn’t need to, though, because the fear was so thick in the briefing room she could almost take bites out of it.

“Um… I suppose we can reassess the location’s priority,” Scott stammered, still three and a half feet from his edge of the table. The team slowly drew back in, but Jean could still feel their reluctance slapping repeatedly against her brain. Scott cleared his throat. “So, given… well, the things just pointed out, it seems we have two major threats and one potential threat. Colonel Stryker and his military outfit need to be found as soon as possible, and we also need to put a stop to whatever the FoH cooks up next. Still, on the off-chance we see anything about this Essex Corporation, it needs to be investigated so that we can determine whether they’re a sinister organization or not. Dismissed, everyone. Jean, can I talk to you real quick about something?”

They went and sat by the plane once everyone else had dissipated.

“I’m sorry for that,” she tried to say, but was cut off.

“Look, don’t worry about it, okay? You were right. Nobody’s seen so much as a hair of Stryker since ’83, and MacTaggert hasn’t said anything about him. Based on that information, I didn’t make him a priority.”

Jean sighed.

“I messed up your paperwork, though,” she chuckled. “I’m surprised that didn’t immediately tie you into a knot.”

“It’s okay, all the pages were numbered,” Scott deadpanned, which drew an actual laugh from her. “But… I need to know how much of that was about stopping further torture of mutants and how much was because of what happened to Logan. There’s really nothing I can do about the second one and you know that.”

“I think it was fifty-fifty,” Jean lied. The truth was it was more like 80% after the things she’d seen in her boyfriend’s nightmares. “But come on. If Kurt had been the one who was experimented on by that guy, tell me you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

“Probably,” Scott allowed, nodding slightly and resting his elbows on his knees. “Just… next time, not right in the middle of a briefing, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Jean promised. “Thanks, Scott.”

“Sure. I’ll make sure the minutes are printed up and you can give him a copy so that he knows what’s going on.”

* * *

24.

 

The day after her birthday, when Jean got off her shift, she was alarmed to find that Logan wasn’t anywhere in the mansion. Usually they ate together when she got home, but now she couldn’t find him. She couldn’t even feel his thoughts.

 _*Professor? Where’s Logan?*_ Jean called out.

_*He was sent out this morning to help subjugate one of the Friends of Humanity cells that Moira recently located for us. It’s unlikely he’ll be back before tomorrow.*_

Jean thanked him, then broke off the link and groaned loudly. _I hope they don’t want that to end well,_ she thought to herself on the way to her bedroom. Unleashing Logan on a group of FoH terrorists generally had the subtle precision of a sledgehammer dropped on an egg.

Sighing and dropping her backpack just inside the door, Jean flopped face-first onto his bed without taking off her coat first. She was pretty sure there was blood on her scrubs, too, but at the moment she didn’t care. Admittedly, even a few years ago and long before they’d started dating, it had unsettled her whenever Logan disappeared for team missions, but that had been back when he was an active flight risk most of the time and she didn’t want him getting into trouble. Now, though, it was because she’d already gotten used to him waiting up for her and she just missed him. It was interesting how something could minutely shift like that so early into a relationship.

 

 _15 Days Ago - December 1992  
_ “Ugggghhhhhhrrrrrr, why do I gotta get up?” Logan groaned, stretching his back.

“Because the kids all like you, now come on,” Jean prodded as she grabbed one of his arms and tugged to no effect.

“Wha… no! Fuck no, I ain’t gettin’ up! It ain’t even seven yet!” he complained.

“Okay, if you want I can just drag you down in your boxers,” Jean halfheartedly threatened.

“Christ on a fuckin’ crutch… fine. Whatever. Lemme get dressed.”

Jean waited outside his bedroom, cozy in her fluffy blue bathrobe and matching slippers. Underneath, though, were plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a short-sleeved undershirt she’d stolen from her boyfriend - women’s sleepwear just wasn’t warm enough for some reason, and swiping Logan’s clothes was almost always more comfortable anyway.

Logan stumbled out of his room in worn-out sweatpants and a wife beater that had obviously gone on a mission under his uniform at some point, and on top of that he was barefoot despite how frigid the floor was. Of course, Logan was also dusted with fur across nearly every inch of skin, so he probably didn’t even know the meaning behind the word “cold.”

The rule was that they had to eat breakfast before presents, but that wasn’t too much of a hardship considering the kitchen staff always prepared blueberry-and-chocolate-chip waffles on Christmas morning. Logan was still barely awake, so he made things easy on himself by spreading butter across his waffles with one of his claws instead of using a knife like a person who knew what table manners were. And, as was typical for him considering he needed three to five thousand calories per day, he put away three stacks with six glasses of orange juice (to say nothing of the bacon or sausage).

Soon, all across the first floor of the school, everything was an impassable mess of red and gold wrapping paper from the uncountable numbers of Gameboys, super-soakers, Barbie dolls, Lego sets and comic books. The kids more or less ran riot through the halls with their loot, even the older ones, while the adults gathered in the biggest of the rec rooms (once it had been cleared out some) to pass around their own gifts. For the first time since joining Xavier’s workforce, Logan actually got the biggest stack of gifts - mainly cards and pictures made of construction paper by his students, especially the ones from the bunker he’d ransacked almost three weeks ago. The other teachers and team members had gotten him more practical things, like a new set of laces for his combat boots after he’d been bitching about them for over a month, all six _Nightmare on Elm Street_ movies on VHS (because for some reason he liked those awful films), and an enormous package of duct tape so that he wouldn’t keep running out.

As for the gifts he actually _gave,_ there was only one, and it was for Jean - from the size and weight, also a VHS tape. The wrapping paper was poorly applied, but that didn’t matter considering she was tearing it off a second later. It was, of course, a copy of _The Terminator,_ but what really got her was the post-it note he’d stuck to the front.

 _Jean-_  
_Just like the guy in this movie, I’d go back in time and die for you.  
_ _Love Logan_

It made her remember the explanation they'd both been given for his nightmares about murdering her two years ago. And all she could think was,  _Didn't you already?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you may have guessed, *The Terminator* is in my top 5 most favorite movies of all time, which is why it keeps getting referenced. Rotten Tomatoes says it's the #1 action film of all time... even though it's actually a sci-fi/horror film. But whatever. Good fucking movie.
> 
> Please, I want to put this out there as a preemptive strike - I don't want to hear anything about Mister Sinister. It's unlikely he'll even actually appear in the story, I know almost nothing about him, and I'm just winging it on that front. So just - no. Just no.


	5. 1993 - 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there may be an instance or two where Logan is a little OOC, but there's a reason for that and it does get explained later on in the segment.
> 
> Also, at the request of ozzy_castle, there is some low-key smut towards the end. Here's the thing, though, I'm a guy who dates other guys, so... there generally tends to be some amount of guessing involved when I write smut for het couples and because of that I really didn't get into the nitty-gritty of it. So if you're looking for straight-up porn, this isn't it, and the feel I was going for is more like the tone of THAT SCENE in *The Terminator*, being that it's not a sex scene - it's a love scene. Not the same thing.

25.

 

When Jean got home from work, Logan went to find her like he always did with two plates of leftovers from dinner. Nearing her door, though, he could smell tears on her, which saw him running down the hall to smash in the door without knocking.

“Jean? What happened, are you okay?” Logan demanded, all but taking a flying leap onto the bed where she was curled into a ball. “You didn’t get exposed to somethin’ again, did you?”

“No.” She shook her head against her arms, which were folded on top of her knees. She was still wearing her winter coat and even her shoes. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?” he prodded, pulling her to his chest.

“There was… um… just, a really bad car accident today, and…” She was sniffling between words. “These two people… were picking their son up from day-care… and… we… um, we tried to get him into the OR as fast… as fast as we could, but… he died on the table.”

“Jesus,” Logan murmured as she burst out sobbing into his undershirt. “Hey, it ain’t your fault. They were prob’ly drivin’ like idiots.”

“That’s not the point!” Jean grabbed onto a fistful of his plaid shirt as the shaking intensified. “He… he was my patient, and… and I let him down. I heard later… um, the whole side of their car was crushed in… it was the side he was on… the surgical attending said… he died from blunt force trauma… to his ribs and his skull.”

“Hey, look at me.” Logan wiped under her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. “Course, I ain’t a doctor, but that don’t sound like you could’a saved him. Sometimes shit like that’s gonna be outta your hands, baby. That prob’ly sounds like a real shitty thing for me to say, but it’s the truth. If he died on the table, that ain’t on you. Your job was to get him to the table, right? Besides, you’re the smartest, most carin’ person I ever met, and you’re also the only doctor _anywhere_ I’d ever trust with anythin’. So you gotta believe me when I say this: there’s no way in hell you didn’t do everythin’ you could for that kid.”

“I shouldn’t have picked emergency medicine,” Jean mumbled between hiccups and bouts of tears. “I shouldn’t have picked emergency medicine.”

“How many patients die there?” Logan wondered. “This couldn’a been your first one.”

“I don’t know. A lot. I’ve seen so many come through who didn’t make it,” she admitted. “But this was different.”

“Why?” he questioned.

“Because I’ve never lost a kid before. I’ve had plenty of children under my care - broken bones or babies who ate nickels. But this is the first time a little boy died on my watch.”

Logan squeezed her and didn’t say anything else - he couldn’t make this better, and it made him feel worthless. After sitting so long that his ass went numb, he finally let go and slid Jean’s coat and sneakers off. Her green-blue hospital clothes had blood on them, but there was no way in hell he’d actually undress her. With an inner sigh at himself as much as the situation, Logan kicked off his boots so that he could at least make her lay down; maybe that would help.

Jean was smeared with gore and Logan still stank from running his gym classes, but neither of them really cared as she snuggled into his chest. He nuzzled the top of her head, tugging free the pins she used to keep it out of her face for work and then just burying himself in her scent. Maybe if he could relax, it would make her calm down, too.

And then Jean’s alarm clock was going off, startling them both awake.

Logan wasn’t really clear how this had even happened. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but now they were both being jolted rudely back into the real world from what had been, for him at least, the most peaceful slumber he could ever remember.

“Ugh, can you turn that fuckin’ thing off?” Logan groaned, rolling away and scrubbing his palm over his bristly face.

“Good morning to you too,” Jean muttered, obediently slapping her hand onto the small annoying device and silencing it. Her next words rode on a wide yawn: “What’re you still doing here?”

“Dunno, passed out,” he guessed, stumbling away from the bed and searching for his boots. “Christ. You got some fuckin’ bad springs.”

“Says the man who heals from third degree burns in seconds.”

“Hey, healin’ fast don’t make it not hurt,” he pointed out. “Gotta get one’a them foam things like I got, it’s way better long as you don’t stab it too bad.”

“I’m sure,” Jean replied absently before yawning again. “You’re going to make me late if you keep hanging around.”

“You want breakfast?”

“I want you to take a shower, you sweat a lot in your sleep.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Logan snorted, but in the end did as she said and went through the bare minimum of cleaning himself. He needed to trim his chops again, but that could wait. “Wanna ride to work?”

“Sure,” Jean shrugged. Freshly groomed and in a clean blue uniform, nobody in the school but Logan would ever know yesterday’s tragedy had taken place on her shift. “I’m not getting off until midnight, though.”

“That’s okay, I’ll be up,” Logan shrugged, going out to his truck in just a flannel while Jean was practically bundled for a trip to the arctic circle. “Warm enough under all that?”

“Oh please, you have enough hair to rival Hank,” she snorted, dropping into the passenger seat and rubbing her hands together through her mittens. “It’s pretty amazing you don’t start getting heat stroke come June.”

Logan pulled up to the hospital in a spray of slush, and once he’s shifted into park he reached out for her shoulder: “Hey, don’t think about yesterday, okay? That weren’t your fault.”

Jean sighed, but also nodded. “I know. I’ll be okay.”

She kissed him before getting out of his truck, and Logan watched as she disappeared inside the building before shifting back into drive and pulling away.

* * *

26.

 

Four more months. It was important for Jean to remember that - four more months. At the end of June, her residency would be over, she could leave the damn hospital forever, and things wouldn’t be quite so terrible during her work days (at least, she hoped).

For the last week and a half, Logan seemed to be making it a habit to always bring her to and from work. Jean could tell it had a sliver of worry embedded somewhere, but surprisingly the main reason seemed to be that Logan just wanted to spend more time with her and this was the only way he could find to make that happen.

“How many today?” Logan grunted as Jean climbed into the battered Chevy after a grueling twenty four-hour shift.

“Too many,” Jean answered, feeling grim. “I don’t know what it is this month…”

“You sure it ain’t just you bein’ sick’a this place?” he questioned, glancing away from the road briefly to find her eyes. “Could be your brain fuckin’ with you, you wouldn’t be the only one on that front.”

“Logan, I’m telling you, your nightmares have only changed because you keep watching those stupid horror movies. I don’t know why you like them, they’re not even that good.”

“The first one is,” he shrugged. “Third one’s alright. The other four’re fuckin’ dumb, but you gotta love how dumb they actually get.”

“If you say so. But having constant nightmares about being trapped in a pit while Freddy Krueger goes after your friends doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me.”

“Maybe he’s real,” Logan joked.

“Maybe you’re being a stubborn idiot,” Jean insisted. “I’ve had dreams about things I saw on tv more than once, so I’m pretty sure there’s a connection.”

“Yeah, you dream about that guy… what’s his fuckin’ name? I know I seen him in _Aliens,_ too… Michael somethin’.”

“Michael Biehn. And don’t worry, you’re still more handsome than he is,” Jean smiled. “Besides, I think _Aliens_ is the only movie he’s in where he _doesn’t_ die at the end.”

“Whatever.” Logan flicked his cigar butt out of the truck and finally closed the window, which didn’t make too much difference considering they’d be home in two minutes anyway. “You wanna just sleep until tomorrow, or you want me to wake you up later?”

“Don’t let me sleep all day again, it disrupts my circadian rhythm,” she groaned.

“Your what now?”

“Sleep cycle,” Jean translated. “Get me up at three or four this afternoon, okay?”

“Sure.”

A hot shower and an eight-hour nap later, Logan made good on his promise at 3:30 pm - Jean crawled back into full consciousness to discover his chest against her back, his arms around her torso and his breath softly hitting her neck. Not the worst way to wake up ever, she decided.

“You up?” Logan rumbled, nuzzling the base of her skull and squeezing her a little.

“Mm-hm,” Jean affirmed. She rolled over in his grip and kissed that spot under his chin the way he liked. “You’re not trying to pull something, are you?”

“Never,” he promised, and for some reason she was surprised to discover that he meant it. “Just wanted to be where you are.”

Warm, safe and comfortable, Jean almost fell back asleep until Logan’s stomach started growling.

“Need a snack?” she snickered, poking him just under his ribs.

“Need a meal,” Logan grumbled, finally getting up and pulling Jean after him.

“It’s only four in the afternoon, dinner’s not until six,” she pointed out.

“And?” he grunted indifferently.

“Nothing, let’s go eat.”

Jean crunched on some celery sticks with peanut butter while Logan dug up every leftover steak and ham from the fridges he could get his claws on. Of course, given Jean’s powers, they could still communicate as much as they wanted without speaking.

_So Chuck says we got some kinda mind-link goin’ on? Think that’s what he called it._

_*It’s the only explanation,*_ Jean agreed. _*A lot of the time when one forms, neither of the people involved even notices it happening at first. But at least now we know why you started hearing my thoughts for no reason a few years ago.*_

 _Yeah, that was pretty fuckin’ scary the first time,_ Logan admitted. _You still gettin’ my nightmares and shit?_

 _*Only sometimes. I’m starting to know the difference and my brain can filter it out about half the time.*_ Jean smeared peanut butter across another piece of celery. _*So speaking of me being in your head… I don’t know how to bring this up in a way that won’t be painful and awkward, so I’ll just ask: you never think about trying to sleep with me. Why is that?*_

Logan actually choked, which ended with him falling out of his chair and coughing half-chewed beef onto the kitchen floor. He was still banging his fist against his sternum as he got back up.

“You really want me to answer that? Pretty sure you already know why. You bein’ in my nightmares and all.” Logan pinched between his eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about this. Plus women ain’t s’posed to think about that shit, right?”

“Welcome to the ’90s, Logan.” Jean sighed. “Okay. Put that all away before you try breathing it in again and we'll go somewhere else. We’re going to have to talk about this at some point, so let’s just get on with it.”

“We been datin’ for less than four months and we’re gettin’ into this _now?_ ” he groaned.

“Fine, you know what? You were put in solitary in ’81 or ’82 after the procedure, right? So that means it’s been eleven years and you still haven’t worked this out for yourself yet. Can you blame me for being concerned?”

“Do you know how to _not_ be worried about me?”

“Not until you stop giving me reasons to be worried,” Jean answered bluntly. “Come on. We can’t go outside until it gets warm again, but I’m sure there’s a quiet spot around here somewhere. It’s not like you won’t hear anyone trying to sneak up on us.”

“If I make it through this fuckin’ conversation, do I get booze as a reward?”

“No. Don’t ever ask me that again.”

“Okay… I seen or overheard enough shitty tv that the kids watch to know how this’s gonna go, so can we just skip the painful part and go straight to not talkin’ to each other for a fuckin’ month?” Logan groaned.

“Let’s go,” she ordered, not giving any more attention to his arguing.

A large part of Jean felt very bad about this - she could feel all of Logan’s old pain and fear washing back through his mind - but she really did think this needed to be addressed sooner rather than later. As far as she knew it was the last major barrier of trauma that had to be tackled.

They ended up in the danger room, of all places, because of its soundproofing.

“Why’re you makin’ me do this?” Logan demanded before the doors had even finished closing behind them.

“Do you have any idea how far you’ve actually gotten?” she asked instead of answering him. “No, I mean it, do you?”

“Not that far, I still wake up sweatin’ bad enough to fill a fuckin’ pool,” he grunted, pacing across the metal floor and looking like he was about to have a panic attack.

“But you don’t run anymore,” Jean pointed out, unable to get closer to him; each time she tried, he switched direction. “Do you think the guy I let out of that cage would be going on missions and teaching kids?”

“Yeah, y’know what, I got news for you: I’m still that guy,” Logan snapped. His hands were clenched and he was pacing faster. “I just got better at pretendin’ not to be.” His fingers uncurled long enough to reach into the pocket of his shirt, which was almost worse than the other tics he was having because what he pulled out was a pack of Winstons. Logan only went for cigarettes over cigars when something was really wrong with him, and usually it was right before he went hunting for a liquor store to raid. “I’m still that guy…”

“Logan, take a breath,” Jean reminded him. She’d stopped trying to match his steps and now she just stood watching. “I’m trying to help.”

“Well you ain’t helpin’,” he snapped, cracking his knuckles before extending his claws just so he could stare at them. “Look at this… look at _me,_ look at what they fuckin’ did to me and say I couldn’a stopped everythin’ they fuckin’ did down there. Weren’t always metal, but I always had the fuckin’ claws. Could’a stopped them.”

Very quietly, Jean couldn’t help but ask: “Do you think you deserved it?”

“No.” Logan stopped moving and took a long drag of his cigarette. “No, I don’t. But I don’t think nobody ever gets what they deserve, so that don’t mean too much, right?”

She let out a long but silent breath through her nose as she studied him. The words didn’t want to come out of her mouth, but she knew he needed to hear them.

“I know how awful this probably sounds, but you’re not the only person who’s ever been held down and assaulted in a prison cell.”

“What’s your point?” he snarled. “How’s that make it better?”

“It doesn’t,” Jean agreed. “You know there’s a pretty common theme in your nightmares that I’ve noticed… it’s not that you remember exact details, you remember how it felt while you were being tortured. So you dream about being trapped somewhere and watching.”

“So?”

“So… you know I know how it feels to be helpless,” she offered. “Like a couple of weeks ago. Or really any time I’ve lost a patient…” Jean had to stop and pick her words for a moment so that she wouldn’t make herself cry. “Everything Stryker did was beyond your control, and that really sucks, but now you _are_ in control and you have been ever since we got you out of there. So you need to be in charge of how you deal with these things instead of letting them kick your ass all the time.”

“Well, y’know what,” Logan hissed as he threw down the butt and crushed it, “I’mma be in charge’a how I deal with this by endin’ this fuckin’ conversation. I’m not talkin’ about this anymore, _ever._ ”

He stomped out of the danger room before she could say another word.

* * *

27.

 

Logan went somewhere and hid from her after that for two days. On the third day, once her shift had ended, Jean went to talk with Xavier.

“I think I pushed him too hard on this one,” she sighed once she was comfortably sitting in the professor’s study. “He won’t even come near me anymore.”

“I disagree,” Professor Xavier countered. “I think _he_ thinks you pushed him too far, and that misnomer is bleeding through to you from his mind. Please, once he comes and finds you again, don’t apologize for telling him things he needs to hear. This is no worse than helping him cope with the loss of his child, even if Logan doesn’t think so.”

“You weren’t there,” Jean argued. “I made him talk about it just based on a _passing thought_ I had when I woke up that afternoon. Tell me how to fix this.”

“There’s no ‘fixing’ to be done, I’m afraid,” Xavier sighed. “Logan exists in his own world to some degree. I don’t think he’ll ever have a conventional view of things… regardless, I don’t doubt for a moment that you’ve pointed him in the right direction. You’ve always done that for him before now, after all. I’m sure if Hank were here, he’d tell you something along the lines of cutting patients open to fix them…”

“I’m not in surgery, but you’re probably right,” Jean finally smiled.

“Yes. The point being, to help people recover from the terrible things that happen to them, you often have to cause further injury.”

“Yeah,” she admitted. It wasn’t hard to see where he was going with this, but she’d let him finish.

“Even so, when you’re performing those procedures, it’s all measured and carefully done, am I right? You only do enough to help the person properly heal. And when they do, it’s their body’s natural response and biology. Psychology is very similar, I believe. Any amount of damage Logan thinks you’ve done to him is always very precise and only after some amount of consideration beforehand. He’ll do the rest on his own, just like he always has, and just like your patients do. If you like, though, I can try to speak with him about this.”

“No, that’s probably not a good idea,” Jean decided, shaking her head. “He doesn’t like people knowing the gritty details about his problems, so he’ll just be more upset if he knows I talked to you about it.”

She wished the professor goodnight, then spent the next hour wandering the halls of the mansion looking for her boyfriend. The thought came to her briefly that this was vaguely similar to the pointless bullshit she’d dealt with during the occasional relationships she’d had in college (none of which had lasted more than a month), where it was an instance of completely avoidable melodrama. Except this wasn’t insignificant crap like that had been - if Logan regressed too far, he’d become a danger to everyone around him again.

The irony wasn’t lost on Jean that when she finally found him, he was in the danger room killing hard-light enemies.

She knew he could feel her watching him from the window in the control center, but whether by choice or by design Logan did nothing to acknowledge her presence. He wasn’t even in one of his training uniforms, instead sporting his oldest and most battered flannel and a pair of jeans that could barely even be called pants anymore for all the holes.

Jean had to work tomorrow, so there was absolutely no reason she stayed up until midnight watching Logan finally complete the scenario except that she knew it’d probably take her another week to catch him again.

“Go away.”

She’d expected those to be the first words out of his mouth, but it still hurt.

“I can’t, I live here,” Jean deadpanned, trying to stifle her disappointment. It wasn’t Logan’s fault that he was this way. “It’s been three days, you can’t avoid me forever.”

“Watch me.”

Frustrated, Jean grabbed his arm and yanked him back, aided by her telekinesis. “Look, Logan. I’m sorry that you’re still in pain, and I’m sorry for everything they did to you at Alkali Lake. But I’m not sorry for anything I said, because whether you like it or not it was all true and you need to start dealing with this issue instead of just running away again. You can hide from me and ignore me as much as you want, but it’s not going to change or fix anything. So when you feel like growing up-” She knew that had to get through because he’d said something similar to her once. “-and stop acting like I’m out to get you the way you think everyone else is, come find me.”

“...Jean.” She’d barely taken three steps, but it suctioned her feet to the floor when she realized what Logan was about to say. “I’m sorry. But I can’t do this.”

Alone in her room a few minutes later, she cried herself to sleep that night.

 

“You’re a stupid, stupid man,” Logan muttered to himself as he drove his left claws into his right arm for the third time. Like always, he watched his flesh knit itself back together and wished hopelessly that it wouldn’t. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

He’d stowed all his pictures under his bed for now, even the framed ones, because he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Jean was in almost every single one and he’d let the whole situation between them blow up in his face yesterday - gripped with indecision, he was now stalling by ripping his arms open repeatedly. For once, his instincts _weren’t_ the part telling him to make a break for it, and that was throwing him for a complete fucking loop. Now it seemed to be the _him_ part that was screaming RUN! RUN! RUN!

The feral part of Logan’s mind was warring with that impulse for the first time in as long as he could remember. He knew he’d probably royally fucked things up for himself last night, but after so long of inhabiting this place he’d thoroughly built up his nest and his pattern of living around the school. As such, Animal Logan had no motivation to pack up and leave at the drop of a hat anymore.

Buried deeply enough in his tangled thoughts, in a rare instance for him the pounding against his door made him jump and subsequently fall off his bed.

“Logan? Are you there?”

What the fuck was Kurt doing here? The blue teleporter almost never bothered him for anything.

“Yeah,” he called through after considering the situation briefly. The other mutant slowly came in, smelling and acting very nervous about something. Logan could feel his skin prickling in response. “Well? What is it?”

“I’m very sorry about this,” Kurt told him.

There was a tail around his wrist and he was sucked violently out of place, dropped with no warning into… why the fuck was he back in the danger room?

And then a warhead caught him in the ribs with enough force that he was slammed backwards into the metal wall. It took longer than a moment for the pain to stop blinding him, and after Logan finished coughing out burned pieces of his own lungs he looked up to find, of all people, Scott Fucking Summers.

“The hell was that for?” he groaned, still slumped on the floor.

“That was for stabbing me in November.”

“Fuckin’ get over it already, bub.”

“Well, now I have,” Scott snarked. “And you may as well just stay there, because if you even look like you’re going to let the claws out I’ll hit you again.”

Annoyed, Logan got to his feet, but he wasn’t dumb enough to attack. He could heal from anything, but Scott would probably just blast him until he got bored with the idea, so that conflict would get them both nowhere.

“Fine, Slim, you got my fuckin’ attention. Whaddya want?”

“Jean left for work crying this morning,” the team leader snapped. “She didn’t say anything, but I _know_ it’s because of something you did. Never mind you ignoring my orders in the field or getting into fights with your teammates, I’m _not_ going to watch you hurt my friends and let you off the hook for it. I don’t know what you actually did, Logan, and to be honest I don’t even care. But Jean’s my best friend and if you don’t fix this by tomorrow morning you’re going to like me even less than you already do. Are we clear?”

“‘Clear?’” Logan snorted in disbelief. “You don’t even fuckin’ know what went on, and you’re bitchin’ me out down here so that nobody else can see you lose your perfect fuckin’ composure? Tell you what, Slim, you keep your ass outta my shit and I won’t bring all that nice security footage to Chuck of you attackin’ one’a your teammates.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I disabled them first,” Scott informed him flatly. “You don’t have a leg to stand on, Logan. Go be a jackass to people I don’t care about, and while you’re at it sort your life out so that I don’t have to waste any more time on you when I could be spending it with people who’re actually worth it. Now, I have a class that I’m late for because of you. I’m sure you know the way out.”

 

“So what’s going to happen?”

“Well, we’re going to admit you and run some tests,” Jean answered, “but don’t worry. I went to school with some of the people you’re going to see up there, and they’re great.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

Exiting the cubicle, Jean pulled the curtain shut behind her and put in for the patient to be turfed upstairs before going into the staff room - at least she could have a Diet Coke and try to get some paperwork done while she sulked.

A knock on the frame of the open door: “Jean?”

She looked up to find Penny, one of the receptionists. “Yeah?”

“You have a call, do you want me to send it to the phone in here?”

“That’d be great, thank you,” she nodded. When the light flashed she picked up the receiver. “Emergency room, Dr. Grey speaking.”

“It’s just me.”

Well, this wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all.

“Logan, I’m at work, why are you calling me right now?”

“’Cause…” There was a growl. “Look, I suck at this, okay? But apparently if I don’t do… somethin’, Slim’s gonna kick my ass again, so… fuck, I’m sorry, do you want me to just wait until you get home?”

“That’s probably a good idea before you hurt yourself,” Jean answered sarcastically. “Is that it? Because I have a lot of paperwork.”

“I just… he said you went to work cryin’.”

“So what? Can we please hash this out when I get back? I’m really not in the mood for you to dump me over the phone.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, I ain’t gonna dump you!” he yelled from the other end. “Already said I suck at this!”

“Okay, stop shouting!” Jean insisted. “I’m glad we’ve gotten that clarified. Now you really need to let me get my paperwork done before the stack gets too tall, falls over and crushes me, okay?”

“Yeah.” Logan sighed. “Just… I’m sorry I’m such a bastard all the time, and I love you. Really.”

“I know,” she answered, also sighing. “Thank you, Logan. I’ll see you in a few hours. Bye.”

“Bye.”

As she hung up the phone, Jean realized that the invisible steel ropes around her torso had mysteriously vanished - the not knowing had been killing her.

“That sounded a little rough, boyfriend problems?” Penny asked, back in the doorway of the staff room.

Incredibly, Jean smiled. “Yeah, kinda. He’s a work in progress, that’s all.”

“Aren’t they always?” Penny laughed.

 

Logan was about as thrilled to be discussing his relationship problems with Hank as he had been by being torpedoed by Scott’s eye-beams earlier.

The blue furball cleared his throat awkwardly. “So. As far as I can determine with the information at hand, there’s no reason this issue can’t be dealt with.”

“Great. Then we don’t gotta keep talkin’ about it,” Logan growled.

“Please,” Hank stopped him, raising a paw from his desk. “I understand that you find this situation humiliating to say the least, and I can’t say I blame you. But the fact remains that this is an entirely psychological issue.”

“No shit,” Logan ground out, struggling to unclench his fists. “When is it ever _not?_ ”

“He’s trying to help, calm down,” Jean reminded him.

Hank took off his glasses briefly to rub his eyes with his fingers. “Quite frankly, Logan, the amount of trauma you sustained in Stryker’s captivity is astounding. Some days I find it amazing you can even _talk._ ”

“I s’posed to be comforted by that?” he demanded.

“Please, I’m not finished. Given said astounding level of trauma compared with how well you function on a day-to-day basis, it speaks to the level of mental fortitude you must possess. I believe I can say with quite a bit of certainty that even after this long, few of us would be doing as well as you are.”

“You think this is me doin’ well?” Logan repeated in disbelief.

“Relatively speaking,” Hank amended.

After an embarrassing breakdown of how he’d almost ended his relationship through sheer stupidity, Logan couldn’t look at either Jean or Hank while they discussed the issue and seemed to be hashing out some possible solutions. It was all medical-sciencey type words, anyway, so he only understood about a third of what they were saying to each other.

 _Can I get the dumbed-down version’a all that?_ Logan thought to Jean as they made their way back upstairs.

_*Basically Hank thinks that sensory input is important… we’ll just have to make sure you know where you are. Your strongest sense is smell, right?*_

_Think so, yeah._

_*Okay. So it’s pretty likely that as long as I’m all you can smell… um… in the moment, it shouldn’t be the issue. And I didn’t tell Hank this, but I really think the_ idea _is what’s getting to you. All you can think about is that you remember being hurt.*_

 _Maybe,_ Logan reluctantly agreed. _Don’t wanna hurt you. There was this one time, I think you were still in med school and I never wrote to you about it, but I picked up a hooker in a bar someplace and then when I got off the claws came out and I almost stabbed her to death by accident._

 _*Wow.*_ The word hung between them until they finally reached Jean’s bedroom. She slid one of her hands into his and gently pulled him in after her: “Hey, I’m not going to make you do anything, okay? Whenever you come to terms with things and it gets to that, it’s going to be at your own pace.” She put her hands on his face and kissed him. “And thank you for not breaking up with me over the phone. If you’d done that I would’ve _let_ Scott kill you for it.”

“I weren’t gonna do that,” he assured her. “But you gotta promise me somethin’, okay?”

“Sure, what?”

“You can’t _never_ let me almost dump you again, baby.”

Jean laughed. “Okay, I won’t.”

* * *

28.

 

Jean made every effort to have Wednesdays off so that she could attend the briefing each week, and starting with the previous one she’d been forcing Logan to go to them with her - that way he could actually get the critical information that was discussed firsthand instead of bullying Warren into telling him later on. (It was largely on Warren’s request for exactly this reason that had Jean dragging Logan in by his ear, because she didn’t agree with him doing things that way, either.)

“Good, we’re all here,” Scott nodded after Hank finally arrived sporting a fresh burn-spot on his fur (probably another lab accident - he had a lot of those for some reason). “First, regarding last week’s speculation that we have a leak somewhere in the school, as of yesterday’s disaster in the field we can safely confirm that the FoH has put at least one sleeper on our staff. We need to find them immediately, but if you have any suspicions, report them to me or Xavier _only_ and don’t try to take them on yourself. If we have any suspects, we’ll arrange for them to ‘overhear’ some false information - that way we can catch the FoH off-guard and root out the leak once the local cell has been taken care of.”

“Do we have any intelligence on what they’re actually planning for _us?_ ” Mystique questioned.

“Nothing substantial yet,” Scott answered with a grim shake of his head. “And in light of the events during our failed reconnaissance last night-” Jean swore she could hear him thinking _No matter how painful it is for me to actually say this part._ “-I’d like to publicly commend Wolverine for his actions in the field. If he wasn’t there, I’m not sure we would’ve gotten out alive.”

“Yeah, ’cause I was there to catch the fuckin’ flak for you,” Logan snorted.

Well, that explained all the blood she’d seen in his bathroom earlier - Logan healed fast enough that bullets and shrapnel would become stuck inside his body, and usually that meant he ended up digging them out later on with his claws.

“On to the next point,” Scott began again, stopping any further irritated comments from the feral mutant, “because of the increased activity from the Friends of Humanity, the field trip to the aquarium next week has been cancelled, so classes will take place as normal for those of you in teaching rolls. Yes, Logan, even you.”

Jean gave her boyfriend a sideways look, which kept him from expressing his outrage with anything more than a disgruntled snarl. He liked his students, and they absolutely loved him, but even the pseudo-instructional post of “gym teacher” took a lot out of him and he needed breaks from it every so often.

“We’re really unable to keep the students safe on an outing?” Ororo frowned.

“Maybe if every single one of us was present, but Professor Xavier isn’t willing to risk it and to be honest I’m not either,” the team leader replied. “I don’t like it, but this local branch of the FoH haven’t proven to be soft so far. Our current understanding of their training and combat methods absolutely doesn’t exclude them being willing and able to murder children to further their goals.”

“That’s disgusting,” Warren muttered. “They’d really shoot a bunch of kids?”

“You’re surprised?” Logan snorted, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t you ever hear any’a Magneto’s rants about that? This’s one’a them situations where he’s pretty much on the fuckin’ money about it. I’d be more shocked if they _ain’t_ gunnin’ after a cluster’a mutie kids.”

Scott cleared his throat loudly.

“Thank you for that lovely exchange, gentlemen, but save the rest of it for when we’re not in the middle of something, please. Now…” He seemed to glance at his list. “Agent MacTaggert is still following up on potential leads about Alkali-Transigen. Logan, this concerns you, if you’d like to pay attention for once. Apparently after we caused that minor inconvenience to them in ’83, their research into creating weapons out of certain mutants for the extermination of other mutants has largely been abandoned, or at least as far as we can tell. They may have facilities in Mexico and Central America, but they haven’t been located yet. As for installations in Canada or here in the US, there’s anywhere from ten to thirty sites total, possibly more. Uncovering them so far, aside from the two we’ve shut down and our pending re-investigation of the bunker at Alkali Lake, is like finding a loose screw in an active sentinel.”

“And?” Logan growled. “How the fuck’s any’a that got to do with me?”

“Not that I think you want to, all things considered, but it’s only fair to offer you a spot on the recon team for Alkali Lake,” Scott answered slowly.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he snapped. “I ain’t goin’ back there for nothin’.”

“Like I said, I didn’t think you’d want to, but I figured I should ask just in case. That said, I need volunteers for this mission.” Nobody jumped at the chance - the team members who hadn’t already gone there didn’t think they’d be helpful in a location they knew nothing about, while the ones who _had_ were anything but eager to return to that terrifying place. “Well, don’t everyone jump up at once.”

Jean was annoyed at how many people actually glanced towards Logan, which got him bristling. “No! Already said I ain’t goin’ back there, what made any’a you think that changed in the last five seconds?” he roared.

Under the rage, only she could detect Logan’s current of fear. They had no right to ask this from him, so why were they still all staring at him like that? Now she was starting to get pissed off for him.

“Are you all deaf?” Jean demanded. “He’s not going and you can’t make him!”

At that, everyone suddenly remembered the last time they’d gotten on her nerves during a team briefing and they stopped looking at Logan.

In the end, it was decided that Mystique, Hank and Kurt would go - the first two for their likelihood of digging up useful intelligence and the third because he could get them back out again in a hurry. Scott didn’t look happy about the idea of his boyfriend going on this mission, but Jean had no sympathy for him after he’d proposed using _her_ boyfriend as a sacrificial lamb on this recon.

Like an omen, Jean noticed Logan start frantically scratching almost a full minute before Erik walked completely uninvited into their team briefing.

“Please, no comments are necessary,” the magnetically-sensitive mutant told them upon entering. “I’ve already informed Charles of my presence and my reason for being here.”

Jean watched Scott fight not to grind his teeth. Erik wasn’t necessarily evil, but he certainly wasn’t a saint, either, and in spite of their cooperation against Apocalypse the relationship between him and the X-Men was usually a strained one.

“What can we help you with, Erik?” Scott ground out.

“Fuck helpin’, would you fuckin’ stop that?” Logan demanded, still digging away at his arms.

“You’re fine,” Erik answered in the most patronizing tone he could probably manage before turning back to the team leader. “Some of my associates have uncovered information that is quite pertinent to your current dilemma. I’m assuming by now you’re aware that a mole has been placed in your school.”

“We are,” Scott ceded, nodding. “That can’t be the only thing you’re here to talk about.”

“Unfortunately, no. Through the interrogation of several human terrorists, we’ve discovered the current objective of the Friends of Humanity… tell me, Ms. Grey, how has the situation been recently at your workplace?”

“Excuse me?” Jean asked, taken completely off-guard. Logan started snarling but she motioned with her hand for him to calm down. “What do I have to do with this?”

“The significant increase of injuries to the emergency room where you work has little to do with any combination of cold weather and poor driving skills,” Erik informed, ignoring her question. “Counter-intuitive though it may seem, they’ve been causing these accidents deliberately. Additionally, several of their agents staff your hospital in varying capacities. Some of their methods to create stress for you are subtle, such as influencing the scheduling arrangements and patient load. Others are more drastic… such as the child they stopped from being admitted to surgery in time. Oh, yes,” Erik nodded at her quiet gasp. “He could easily have recovered, but the surgical team were members of the organization or sympathizers and had been notified ahead of time.”

Scott made a disgusted noise as a means to interrupt. “Could we get to the point, please? This sounds like something we need to get on top of and dragging out the conversation isn’t helping.”

“I can assure you, it’s necessary - this attack runs deeper than you probably anticipate even having heard this,” Erik insisted with a scowl. “There is also more than a handful of these sleeper agents here in the school. Janitorial staff, food preparation workers - I believe Toad and Sabertooth said two teachers as well. This is why the Friends of Humanity have been able to gather so much information on Ms. Grey as well as your X-Men, Mr. Summers. Their sphere of control reaches further than I initially feared - some of their members have been influencing politics of late as well, and are even now attempting to convince the government that mutants are a threat to the American way of living.”

“Well, what does that have to do with Jean?” Scott demanded.

“They are aware of the mishaps caused by her mutation in the past.” Though he was cool about it like always, there was no disguising the apprehensive fury Erik was feeling about the situation, and no matter how self-righteous he could be at times, his suspicions were completely justified. “A particularly, shall we say, _thorough_ examination of one agent has revealed they also have a telepathic mutant prisoner. They’ve been torturing him into psychically suggesting certain things to Wolverine, which either directly or indirectly affect the situation by causing strain in their relationship.”

“Oh, so him being a dickhead really _isn’t_ his fault?” Warren scoffed.

“Eat shit, bird-brain,” Logan snapped.

“As I was saying,” Erik continued in a louder tone, “they are making an attempt on a grand scale to provoke Ms. Grey’s mutation into causing some type of significant event. This event would be what they needed to point to that would cause others to believe their propaganda.”

Having concluded his report, Erik studied them while they silently processed this information. For her part, Jean could only sit frozen with shock and contemplate that all her friends in the room had every right to be terrified of her. Logan, as always, lacked that trait, but for the very first time she couldn’t help thinking it was because he was too dense to realize the threat she posed to his life.

Predictably, it was Scott who broke the fugue. “Well… can you at least say you’ve come here to actually help and not just be the bearer of bad news?”

“Certainly, I have a vested interest in preventing their scheme from reaching fruition.” Erik nodded to Jean. “Given the situation, Ms. Grey, I believe, has top priority.”

“I agree,” Scott nodded. “Jean, do you think you can take some time off work to give us a little bit of a buffer period?”

“I can try to get a week, but it’s really short notice and I have no seniority,” she pointed out.

“You’ve got to try,” the team leader insisted. “It’ll give us the chance to get on top of this and keep you safe.”

Okay, _that_ was annoying. “Excuse me, what?” Jean demanded. “Keep me _safe?_ I’m fairly certain you’ve gone on missions with me, Scott, so you know I can hold my own against some bigots with assault rifles. And I also don’t feel like derailing my career just because of a terrorist cell.”

A hand on her arm - Logan’s. He’d stopped itching his skin long enough to interact with the world again. “Hey, it ain’t like that,” he told her gently. “Nobody kicks more ass’n you, baby, we just gotta make sure everyone else’s safe, that’s all. Sooner we get these fuckers outta your hair, the better, right?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Jean rubbed his hand with hers. _*Stop scratching, it’s not helping and you know it. You just need to wait for him to go away.*_

“Alright.” Scott clapped his hands together as he said the word, sitting up even straighter in his chair. “Erik, since the local FoH cell is less familiar with your group, see if you can at least slow them down for the time being while we figure out a way to put a stop to this - but for god’s sake be subtle about it. Hank, Mystique, Kurt, we’re moving up your mission to Alkali - we need to know if Stryker is still in business and if he is, I can definitely see him being involved with this somehow. Remember, though, recon _only._ The FoH is our biggest priority right now, so if Stryker’s outfit is still up and running we’ll need to do extensive planning so that we can root him out for good this time. Warren, since you don’t have an active teaching position, I want you to help Professor Xavier find out who’s been planted here by the FoH. Ororo, I know you _do_ have classes, but do your best to keep your eyes and ears open, too. Peter, I want you to do a thorough sweep of the campus, see if there’s any electronic surveillance devices that’ve been planted here. If anyone complains, tell them you’ve got permission from me - all the dorms need to be checked too, including ours. Logan, I’m suspending your classes for the time being. I’m sure that won’t be a hardship on you, and neither will this: you’re not allowed to be more than a room away from Jean at any point until further notice. Jean, stick with your boyfriend and get that time off work, okay? I’m sure they don’t want him hanging around your emergency room. Dismissed, everyone.”

“My room’s on a diff’r’nt hall,” Logan pointed out.

“Then sleep on her floor,” Scott answered flatly. “It won’t be the first time.”

“Hey, don’t, it’s not worth it,” Jean insisted, touching Logan’s arm before he could even start growling.

* * *

29.

 

Even though her job was hard on her, Logan could tell it really bothered Jean that she’d been effectively benched from the team. He couldn’t decide how he felt about the idea himself. The prospect of getting to spend time with her during normal human hours was a nice one, and she always needed a break. On the other hand, now that they knew what was going on he didn’t really see the point in keeping their most potent team member out of action. It wasn’t like she could keep being tricked by the FoH, after all.

What pissed him off most was that someone had been mind-controlling him and nobody had caught on. Of course Jean had so much on her plate that Logan could easily give her a pass, but Xavier if nobody else should’ve noticed _something_ off about him. How had it been allowed to go on unchecked?

“Stop worrying about it,” Jean murmured, hugging him from behind and resting her face between his shoulders. “We can stop them from keeping it up, now.”

“That ain’t it,” Logan grumbled, letting his arms slump a little before twisting around to return the embrace. “I’m so fuckin’ sick’a people stompin’ around in my brain without askin’ first. I ain’t here to be nobody’s puppet, but it keeps happenin’, and they been usin’ me against you, for fucks sake. I fuckin’ hate that.”

His claws wanted to come out, but instead he grabbed fistfuls of his girlfriend’s shirt - his muscles were starting to shake with rage. Even after all this time, between everyone from Colonel Stryker to his own fucking self, Logan was still only seen as a tool for others’ gain. And now he’d been wielded against Jean, if unwittingly, which was unacceptable.

“The professor might be able to teach you to prevent something like this from happening again,” Jean offered. “It’s not always easy, but you can learn to detect people trying to influence you and shut them out.”

“Can it make it so I ain’t a threat to you?” he questioned. “’Cause I had people fuck with me before, but this is a whole other level.”

“You’re not a threat to me, Logan.”

“Sure I ain’t,” he growled sarcastically. “They made me into a bigger jackass’n I already am just to fuck with you.”

“Don’t worry, Logan. You’re perfectly good at being a jackass all on your own,” Jean teased.

Impossibly, her humor got to him in the end, and he buried a chuckle against the side of her head. Even when she called him out on his bullshit it only made him love her more.

“Fine,” Logan agreed after a second. “Let’s talk to Chuck about my brain again.”

 

It ended up being the next day, because Jean had to make arrangements with her attending to take time off. The excuse she’d gone with was that there’d been a death in the family, and the lie almost choked her. She was given six days.

Now, she was entering the professor’s office, hand-in-hand with Logan. It was almost strange, being up and about during the day in the school. On her days off she usually read medical journals, caught up on case studies, or (rarely) lazed around and watched TV with her boyfriend when he wasn’t running a gym class.

“Come in,” came Xavier’s voice from behind the door before Jean could even knock. He was sitting behind his desk when they entered. “Given the circumstances, I agree that teaching you to block telepathy is a priority. And incidentally, Logan, I’m very sorry that I failed to notice the suggestions being placed in your subconscious at the time.”

Logan snorted. “How’d you fuckin’ miss that, Chuck? Thought you’re the most powerful telepath in the world or somethin’, bub.”

“Actually, I’m only the second most powerful,” the professor corrected. “Jean has me beat out very easily for that title.”

“Great. Now fix my fuckin’ brain so that this can’t keep happenin’,” Logan demanded.

“Very well. Please sit in the corner, Logan. To begin with, it’s easier to keep a telepath from _finding_ something in your mind than to prevent them from placing an idea, so that’s where you’ll start. I want you to choose a color, any color, and make your best effort to keep me from finding out which color you chose. I’m going to be very obvious about it at first, but after the initial exercises I’ll be subtler about it and you’ll have to pay closer attention. Are you ready?”

“Sure,” Logan shrugged.

Xavier was so practiced with his gift that such a simple task didn’t even need his attention, and with Logan focusing all his efforts on stopping the intrusion he wasn’t paying mind to the world around him. That meant Jean and the professor could talk freely even with him in the room - so, of course, he became the topic of their discussion.

“The version of Logan I met in 1973 was quite a bit different from how he is now,” Xavier remarked.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, he spoke English much better.” They both chuckled. “Certainly his appearance hasn’t changed, but… he was so much older. Almost wise, in a way, though he didn’t necessarily act it. He changed my life in just a few days.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jean nodded. She’d seen things in his nightmares that couldn’t be explained, not from movies or anything that Stryker had done to him, and the only other option was that they were leftovers from “other Logan”. “How much did he tell you?”

“Oh, everything under the sun, or at least it seemed that way at the time,” the professor smiled. “You picked the color gray.”

“Dammit,” Logan grunted, scratching above his ear briefly and shaking his head. “Again?”

“Again,” Xavier affirmed. “Please choose a different color, if you choose the same one it’s much too easy.” Logan frowned and his eyes unfocused, so they were clear to speak. “He was a bridge between two worlds when I met him, but now… were I not able to draw the connection, it’s almost as if they’re two entirely different men. But, I think you both could take a great deal of hope from that. Because in my initial meeting with Logan, he was free.”

“From what?”

“Everything,” the professor answered vaguely. “He was tied only to his responsibility of saving the future. All else was irrelevant to him, he remembered everything by then and had completely accepted himself. So, I don’t find it difficult to imagine that he’ll be able to do so again, someday.”

“That’s… I’m sorry, but I find that _really_ hard to believe,” Jean scoffed. “Have you _seen_ the things he dreams about? Sometimes they make _me_ wake up screaming and trying to stab things.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Xavier laughed. “Green.”

“This sucks,” Logan griped. “You sure there ain’t a better way to do this?”

“Unfortunately, no. Please choose a new color. No, Logan, you can’t choose gray again.”

Jean watched her boyfriend frown at nothing and smiled - he was so handsome it made her stupid sometimes. “Well, I hope you’re right about that ‘inner peace’ for him. He’s more than earned it.”

“Indeed. Logan, you’re not trying hard enough.”

“That’s ’cause this is fuckin’ stupid,” he growled. “How’s this s’posed to help, anyway?”

“It helps you get used to the sensation of a foreign consciousness who may not be as friendly as Jean,” Xavier explained. “Now please, try again.”

The phone rang.

“Here, I can get it for you,” Jean offered, moving to the wall it was mounted on. “Xavier’s School for the Gifted, this is Dr. Grey speaking. How can I help you?”

“I need to speak with Charles Xavier.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“I need to speak with Charles Xavier.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Professor, it’s for you. He won’t tell me who he is.”

The phone was handed over and Logan slouched in his spot, thinking loudly about what a pointless waste of time this seemed to be. Jean pulled over a second chair and settled next to him, finding his hand like always.

 _You happy?_ Logan questioned, completely out of nowhere.

 _*What, right now? No. A national terrorist organization is doing everything in their power to make me a scapegoat so that they can try to obliterate us,*_ Jean answered.

_No, I know that. I meant are you happy bein’ with me. Thought I caught you talkin’ about me for a second there._

_*We were, but it wasn’t anything bad, I promise. Believe me, if I was mad at you, you’d know.*_

Logan chuckled. _Yeah, I guess I would, huh?_

_*Why are you worried about it? Did I say something?*_

_No, just… thinkin’ about bein’ fuckin’ mind-controlled. And how I almost broke up with you… I think the reason I got like that is ’cause’a the mind-control. Don’t think I would’a done that on my own, I would’a just gone somewhere and drank myself into a coma._

_*Probably,*_ Jean agreed (though she wasn’t happy with the idea of Logan turning back to his liquor). _*It’s okay, we got through it, right? That’s what matters.*_

_I guess. But I was thinkin’ about it ’cause it don’t seem like that would’a been somethin’ you brought up unless you thought it’s important, and I want you to be happy._

Jean smiled at him - she was sure this counted as progress in some capacity. _*You don’t have to worry about it like that, Logan. You’re doing perfectly fine and I already said anything that happens will go at your pace. That hasn’t changed.*_

Logan leaned slightly over so that he could tip his head sideways and rest it on her shoulder. _But you don’t feel like you’re missin’ out or nothin’, right?_

 _*I already said you’re fine.*_ She smiled again even though he probably couldn’t see it from his current angle. _*Mostly right now I just want the situation with the FoH to be over with, getting laid is considerably less important.*_

The professor ended up dismissing them because his phone conversation was dragging on, and on the walk upstairs it occurred to Jean that Magneto’s team of disgruntled mutants were probably already chewing their way through upstate New York’s FoH cell, which meant Logan wasn’t being screwed with by the imprisoned telepath anymore. It wasn’t that her boyfriend had no interest in sex - because he did - it was that, prison incidents aside, most of the time it hadn’t ended well for him during his benders over the years. Logan felt like Jean was entitled to sleeping with him if she wanted, but he was terrified of stabbing her by accident or otherwise making the situation unpleasant.

Well, then. That seemed like something she could work with, and thanks to Scott Jean had at least six days to try solving this issue.

* * *

30.

 

“You’re hyperventilating again.”

Logan sucked in the deepest breath his lungs could hold and breathed out slowly - Jean had taken hold of his fist to press a kiss to his knuckles. How was she so fucking patient with him? It was actually pretty mind-boggling, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Sorry,” Logan mumbled, his face buried in her hair.

“It’s okay,” Jean assured him, stroking his forearm with her palm.

He felt like a bastard for dragging things out this long, but every time he inched forward a little he couldn’t breathe. His senses were so overwhelmed that he was forced to keep his eyes closed because it was all he seemed to have control over. The blankets were making Logan sweat almost as much as the apprehension, all he could smell was Jean, her heartbeat was in his ears. His fingers had been shaking so bad that he couldn’t even tear open the rubber and in the end she’d rolled it onto him herself. In her position, he would’ve laughed at him, but she was amazing like always.

“You’re okay,” Jean murmured, reaching up to smooth down the hair around his right ear. Her voice was soothing and Logan felt his arms tremble a little less than they had been. “You’re okay.”

And then he was in.

_Oh, god._

She only used unscented soap because it wouldn’t hurt his nose, and he found himself appreciating that a lot now - Jean smelled like Jean and not like flowery chemicals. Her skin was smooth and soft under Logan’s rough fingertips, and in the darkness behind his eyelids he caught her breath stuttering some… she liked him touching her. That sent a little jolt through his nerves, so he did it again, lightly running his hand down her slender arm.

Fuck, he needed to move. But first - “You want me to keep goin’?”

“Absolutely.”

Logan ended up shifting his weight onto his elbows so he could grab fistfulls of the sheet, keeping his hands and of course his claws far above Jean’s head so that there couldn’t be a mishap. He was nuzzling against her neck and her knees were digging into his flanks, she started out talking into his ear until her words finally failed even though he could only growl. He was almost being held prisoner by the sensory overload, now, but for once he didn’t really care.

Everything was passing between their minds like always, so Logan’s inner clock hit five and a half minutes before Jean was pulling him as close as she could with her arms and legs, but if she cried out he couldn’t hear it over his own howl. His senses were bombarded with pheromones like a really good heroin kick, so powerful that when he realized that he’d put six more holes into his mattress it barely made a mark on his thoughts.

Logan had just enough sense to toss the rubber before collapsing back onto his bed, dragging himself a few inches closer so that he could curl up around Jean. He wasn’t sure if he was tired on his own or if she was tired and it was seeping over to him, but either way his eyes still didn’t want to stay open. He kissed her skin where her neck met her shoulder, and then she kissed the bridge of his nose.

That was the last thing Logan remembered before he drifted off, and when the world came back to him Jean was still in his arms.

“What’re you doin’?” he yawned, shifting a little to press his nose into her hair.

“Watching you sleep,” she smiled. “You looked really peaceful, I didn’t want to get up and disturb you.”

“Put me in a coma,” Logan chuckled, squeezing her a little.

“I didn’t expect any less.”

“Careful, you’re in my lair,” he rumbled. “Might get turned into a steak or somethin’ if you ain’t nice to me.”

“Instead of trying to eat me, you could get up and take a shower,” Jean laughed. “I’m starting to get what you meant by sweating enough to fill a pool.”

Getting into the shower together ended up being very unproductive. Logan had never _really_ been relaxed before, but he thought this might be it, pressing Jean against the tiled wall and kissing her without caring about anything going on anywhere else. The relaxed feeling didn’t stick around for too long, though, because she was running her hands over his wet skin and he wished one of them had thought to bring the box of rubbers instead of leaving it on the bedside table by the lamp.

In the next moment, he learned that his girlfriend’s telekinesis was incredibly handy for all kinds of things besides throwing bad guys around, and then the shower got even less productive.

 

Jean was little envious of Logan’s shorter hair, because it had already dried and fluffed back up into its odd configuration. Hers was still slightly damp, and it made her self-conscious, like that one tiny thing would be enough for everyone to know how she and her boyfriend had spent the afternoon.

Of course, once they got to the briefing room, it wasn’t long before Scott and Hank had the entirety of her focus.

“Please, Logan, you need to sit,” were the first words out of Hank’s mouth when they arrived. It was only the four of them because this wasn’t a team briefing, but Jean could already tell this wouldn’t be a small deal. “Raven, Kurt and I have just returned from our recon of Alkali, and there are some interesting things that we dug up.”

Logan growled a little, but ended up settling in one of the chairs. Jean sat beside him and grabbed onto his hand; the atmosphere of the room was making her nervous for him.

“Before you ask, yes, the bunker is still staffed,” Scott began from across the table. “They didn’t find Stryker, but there was definitely something you need to know about. Hank?”

The furred doctor took a spot on one of the long sides and played with his glasses a little, which was a tell that meant something heavy was on his mind. Jean didn’t think she could be more worried than she already was without transitioning fully to _scared._

“Raven picked up a dossier on their work with genetic experiments during her investigation. There was more than a little in it about you, and… Logan, it may come as a shock, but one of the most terrible things they did to you during their experiments seems to have been a lie to more effectively break your psyche.”

Logan snorted, clearly not surprised. “And?”

“From what I’ve read…” Hank cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses again. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this, really. The genetic material that was stolen from Alkali-Transigen by Essex Corp in 1983 belonged to you, though some of Stryker’s subordinates eventually recovered it. It’s not what you think it is.”

Her boyfriend was growling in his chest, now, clearly uncomfortable discussing this with Scott present. Jean didn’t know what to think, or why Hank was having such a hard time just explaining whatever this was.

“Can you just fuckin’ get on with it?” Logan demanded.

“Based on the information in the file…” Hank breathed out heavily and played with his glasses again for a moment before looking the other feral square in the eye. “Based on the information in the file, the only conclusion I’ve been able to reach is the distinct possibility that your son is still alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, notes on mentioned-only characters:
> 
> 1\. Sabertooth will not be appearing in this story because as far as my narratives go, by this point I consider him a personal trope.  
> 2\. Sinister, Juggernaut, Toad, Moira MacTaggert, etc. may have been briefly named but will not be appearing in this story because I don't know a damn things about writing them.
> 
> Due to lack of feedback, I'm going to finish this narrative to the best of my ability, but this will be my last one for this pairing. My trash fics get more love than the things I put effort into, so I fucking give up. Enjoy this one while it lasts, because again, this will be the last one you get from me.


	6. 1993 - 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got cut a little short, but that's okay. It's 18 pages instead of the usual 20 in Google Docs.
> 
> So, a character origin story gets severely fucked with in this narrative. But come on, in context with the movies (which I mainly try to pull from), the comic book backstories just don't work 90% of the time, so don't hate me.
> 
> Mentions of S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers, and the Fantastic Four in this segment. I haven't seen any of the Avengers movies (or any of the movies about the characters by themselves) and I know very little about the Fantastic Four. This means I know nothing about their continuity, and it won't line up with the continuity of the X-Men films. For those reasons, they are hereby added to the ever-growing list of mentioned-only characters.
> 
> Mild warning for Logan not being a good flyer - he pukes all over the inside of the plane at one point in this segment.
> 
> A bigger warning about violence as well, in varying degrees of graphic content/detail.

31.

 

Logan felt like he had back then, chained to the spot while everything went right along around him without letting him understand. He could only stare, not able to accept the words, until finally he came back to himself enough to voice the first thing that came to him.

“What?”

Just one word, croaked out in absolute shock. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Hank.

“The… the child you saw murdered had been acquired elsewhere,” Hank explained in a shaking tone. “Again, this was done for the effect of breaking you psychologically to make room for their conditioning. From what I understand - and please know that I’ve read through the dossier several times - is that while one fetus survived to term and was birthed, they ran some amount of tests and determined him to be positive for an active x-gene. Such a valuable subject wouldn’t have been thrown away for the express purpose of torturing you. He is not named in the documents other than being designated ‘test subject seventeen,’ and three weeks from now is his twelfth birthday.”

Logan thought his mouth had glued itself shut, but at least Jean could talk for him here.

“Well… where is he, Hank? Do they still have him?”

“No.” The blue mutant shook his head. “Apparently he managed to escape in late November last year… he was being held at the facility in Wyoming that we raided just before Christmas. We have no leads about where he is now or even where to start looking.”

Logan hated how bad he was shaking, how his eyes were stinging, but he couldn’t seem to stop either of those things. The room was blurring and all he managed was to tighten his fingers around Jean’s. “I-I don’t believe this,” he stammered, shaking his head and breathing harder than he should be while sitting down. “I don’t believe this. I saw… they… right in front’a me, they… Jesus, that weren’t even _real?_ ” Then his claws were out and he would’ve been lunging across the table if Jean wasn’t dragging him away by his belt. “YOU NEED TO FIND HIM!” Logan screamed. “YOU NEED TO FIND HIM SO I CAN BRING HIM BACK! WHY THE FUCK AIN’T YOU DONE THAT YET?! WHERE IS HE?! _WHERE’S MY SON?!_ ”

He was hauled back telekinetically, feeling her hugging tightly around his trunk. Through their mental link he could tell that she was crying, too, and he ended up sinking down only to miss the chair and land on his ass on the floor.

Hank came over and reached out to help, but Logan smacked his paws away and slumped back against Jean instead. She was stroking his hair while her other arm was still around his chest; she wasn’t squeezing but he still couldn’t breathe for all his gasping and panting.

“We’ve contacted Agent MacTaggert,” Hank told him quietly. “She’s going to all her contacts, _all_ of them. As soon as she finds anything, we’ll tell you. That’s the best we can do for now, and once again, I’m very, very sorry about this.”

Logan couldn’t even get up - his legs were wet noodles and his muscles could probably make a Richter scale go off. The whole situation was so far over his head that it was on the moon and he didn’t even know how to feel with this new information. Relieved that his son was alive? Angry at himself for not figuring out the truth sooner? Afraid that he’d never find him?

Jean had her forehead against his right temple, telling him that it would be alright and they’d find his son, but in that moment Logan just couldn’t believe her. It wasn’t like she lied to him or that she was wrong all the time, but his gut said he’d never find his son… it said if anything, his son would find _him,_ and even then Logan had a better shot at counting all the stars in the sky on his fingers.

 

It took two days for Logan to recover even a little from the bomb that had been dropped on his head, and by then Jean had run out of leave from her job. As per Scott’s orders, this meant she could blatantly ignore him, try to get away with having Logan follow her around at work (laughable), or ask for more time off. None of those options seemed likely to work out in her favor.

She ultimately went for the third one, but this time it wasn’t over the phone - Jean ended up in the staff room with Dr. Warner, not only convincing him that Logan was perfectly allowed to stand in the corner and glare but also that she needed another week off. It almost felt like a gratuitous use of her gifts and no matter how obnoxious her attending was, she felt really bad for the fact that it had come to this.

Still, no matter how annoying or inconvenient life was for her right now, it was a thousand times worse for her boyfriend and that by itself was enough reason to take the leave of absence as it was. After all the nightmares and suffering and going through the entire grieving process, life had sprung out at Logan from a trapdoor, yelled “Surprise!”, and then beat him with a sledgehammer for his efforts. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even her, just sitting or standing in one place and growling if somebody got too close. Worse still, every other thought in his mind was longing for hard liquor, because then he could’ve been drowning out his problems in Jack Daniels as he’d done so many times in the past. He couldn’t cope.

But finally, at home again after Jean had gone to secure her off-time extension, Logan at least began mumbling to her occasionally. Unsurprisingly, he started with: “What am I gonna do?”

The worst part was the honest truth in her answer. “I don’t know.”

It was hurting her, being able to feel with perfect clarity how much he longed to start drinking again. The tell was back, too - Logan was chain-smoking Winstons like they were the only thing keeping him alive. Personally, if Jean had to choose, she’d much rather it be the damn cigars because the smell wasn’t as harsh and he tended to smoke less of them in a sitting. The whole situation was just painful and there didn’t seem to be a way out of it for now.

Out in the hallway while Logan dug around in the fridge that afternoon, Jean was deliberately trying to keep her conversation with Scott out of her boyfriend’s head.

_We need to talk with the team about this._

_*I don’t think he wants everyone knowing-*_

_Everyone already knows,_ Scott interrupted. _This wasn’t going to stay secret forever, but I want you to know that I’m not the one who said anything. I wouldn’t do that to you or to Logan._

 _*So how is getting them more involved going to help?*_ Jean questioned.

 _Because…_ Scott radiated frustration - like always, he wanted to help even though he _didn’t_ want to help. _Because no matter who he does or doesn’t get along with, if Logan gets a show of support from all of us, it could improve the issue. And regardless of his feelings about this, there’s a twelve-year-old mutant out in the world with nobody taking care of him. That, at least, demands our attention, and if this was my son we were talking about I know this is what I’d want._

Jean sighed quietly, but eventually nodded. _*Alright. Just… do that thing you’re so good at, come up with some kind of plan for him so that he doesn’t snap and go on a rampage. I’ll make sure he’s at the briefing this afternoon and we’ll discuss it there.*_

 _Sounds good._ Scott paused. _For what it’s worth, Jean, I’m sorry you have to deal with all this. Not just Logan’s laundry-list of issues or your problems with Phoenix or your job - when was the last time you had any space just for yourself?_

 _*I don’t really need it,*_ Jean answered, which surprised both of them because she more or less meant it. _*Or at least I didn’t. Before… well, before Hank told us what really happened, any of the quiet moments we had together were really enough.*_

 _I get that._ Her friend smiled a little. _Sometimes after dinner we sit around and Kurt reads to me in German… I’m trying to learn it for him, it’s a really interesting language. We’re thinking about flying to Munich for a week or two this summer._

 _*Is that safe?*_ Jean wondered. _*I don’t know if you know this, but even without Kurt’s appearance, when you wear sunglasses inside at night people give you looks.*_

 _People give us looks anyway whenever we hold hands in public,_ Scott answered bitterly. _We’re not new to that idea._

 _*I’m sorry for everything you have to deal with,*_ she offered, briefly hugging her friend. _*But someday it’ll get better. Just remember that people wouldn’t even share the same bathrooms or water fountains with each other, but nobody cares about that anymore. Eventually people won’t care if you’re gay, either.*_

_I know. It just seems like it’s taking forever, that’s all._

 

“Before we get to the updates from Erik’s team, we’ve got something else to deal with,” Scott announced, passing around thin packets of paper. “Incidentally, we have absolutely no leads on this issue for the time being, so whenever we investigate a new site owned by Alkali-Transigen or the FoH we’ve got to keep our eyes open for any possible information about this… inside the documents you’ve been given is the profile of a twelve-year-old boy. We don’t know his name, but we do know who he is in a manner of speaking.”

Logan flipped back the cover on his copy and stared - the picture was a black and white photocopy, but he could see it all just like Jean had described to him so long ago. Those were his ears, that was his hair and his nose and his chin. Interestingly, the prisoner who’d been used to breed his son must’ve been Asian, because the eye-shape was strange.

“Please, take your time looking over this file,” Scott continued. “He takes second priority only to stopping the FoH political play that’s going on right now. If you look at page three, there’s a list of the technical specifications we got from the genetics dossier that Mystique stole from the bunker. The important parts are highlighted.”

“Oh, great,” Warren muttered sarcastically. “We’ve got _another_ maniac with claws to worry about.”

“Warren, stop,” Jean groaned.

“Enough from the peanut gallery.” Scott held up the master copy of the packet. “We need to find this kid, and the sooner the better. He’s dangerous, he’s alone, and even without those things he needs our help just like any other young mutant. Alkali-Transigen and Essex Corp are _both_ looking for him, so we need to find him first. And really, don’t tell Erik this, but he shouldn’t get ahold of this kid before we can, either. The last thing he needs is another set of brainwashing.”

“Just so we’re clear… this boy has already killed people?” Kurt asked with a worried frown. “Is he a danger to us as well?”

“We don’t know,” Scott answered. Logan was enjoying this less and less by the second. “Look, everyone, I know this is a lot to ask considering everything else going on, but you haven’t disappointed me yet. Dangerous to us or no, once the Friends of Humanity have been stopped, this boy will assume top priority because we take care of our own. Warren, I don’t want to hear it and I’m sure nobody else does, either.”

The winged X-Man scowled, but kept his mouth shut. Good. Logan was more than prepared to gut the fucker if he didn’t behave himself.

“Now, next point of interest,” the team leader went on. “Erik and his cohorts have managed to eliminate two satellite posts for the Friends of Humanity in Westchester County. The news reports have been minimal, though, which is a very good thing. So when he inevitably shows up here at random again, feel free to congratulate him on a job well done. Thursday last week Professor Xavier was contacted by Colonel Nick Fury. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with him, but he’s the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and he was contacted by Agent MacTaggert on our behalf. So, as of six days ago, we have a non-government organization also working on this problem with us. Still, if we have to be in direct contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. at any point, be extremely cautious around them. Their track record with mutant rights is less than spotless.”

“Fantastic,” Logan growled. “More spooks to worry about who want us all locked up.”

“I didn’t say that,” Scott countered.

“Yeah, look bub, I ain’t gonna play nice with those guys, so keep them the fuck away from me,” he demanded, struggling to keep the claws in. He’d heard of S.H.I.E.L.D. at some point, and even with such a vague understanding of them and their practices, he wasn’t particularly impressed.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Scott continued, “the point is we’re not in this alone. Agent MacTaggert is pulling every available string on this case for us.”

“What about the Avengers?” Mystique questioned.

“They’re staying out of it for now, but if the situation gets out of hand they’ll step in as much as they can. The thing is they’re too public; they won’t be political if they can help it because it would cause all kinds of damage across the board. Same goes for the Fantastic Four. Reed Richards has said off the record that he’d love to do as much as he could to help us out, but his hands are tied on this one unless things turn publicly violent.”

“Soprettymuchnobodywantstohelpusjust ’causewe’remutants?” Peter questioned, taking his feet down from the edge of the table and sitting up for once.

“Sounds about right,” Logan grunted before Scott could answer.

“Let’s stay on track, please,” the team leader interrupted. “So as far as the related issue goes, we now have information on the whereabouts of several Alkali-Transigen facilities. We still haven’t found Stryker, but his trail might be warming up again - one of the documents was an invoice from him demanding to know why his subordinates haven’t caught up with Logan’s son yet. It was sent from a facility in New Mexico, but unfortunately from the contents of the invoice it’s clear that that’s not where he actually spends his time and he was only visiting the site briefly.”

Remembering the fucker who’d put him the tank to get implanted, Logan couldn’t help it when the blades shot from his knuckles and split open the table in front of him. Glass shards rained down on his boots.

 _*It’s okay,*_ Jean soothed, resting her palm on his wrist.

“You know, the professor should _really_ just start billing him for all the furniture he breaks,” Warren snarked.

“Enough,” Scott rebuked. “Logan, get a grip on yourself. Warren, provoke people on your own time when we don’t have bigger things to worry about. Now, going back to S.H.I.E.L.D. for a moment, they’re only helping us against the Friends of Humanity. We tried to convince them to help us against Stryker’s outfit, but they refused on the grounds that it would make too much noise and put the public eye on them. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t do covert ops, they launch full-scale operations. So something as shady as Alkali-Transigen isn’t an issue they feel like getting their hands dirty with.”

“Then why are they helping us with the FoH?” Jean asked.

“Because terrorism is terrorism, and this is an issue with potentially global ramifications. Since Stryker is only a threat on this continent, Fury’s not interested. However, the attention seems to be going where it’s needed most, and in his position I’d probably come to a similar resolution.”

“Well, ain’t that just fuckin’ dandy,” Logan grumbled under his breath.

“No matter how unhappy my leadership decisions make you, Logan, Stryker is only our third-biggest problem right now and it’s going to stay that way,” Scott informed him bluntly from across the table. “The FoH are dangerous on such a grand scale that we can’t ignore them, and until that changes Alkali-Transigen only gets third billing.” He sighed heavily. “Alright, that’s it. Remember, read through the file I gave you very carefully, we’re going to fill in the gaps between missions to try and find Logan’s son. Dismissed, everyone.”

Logan’s copy of the packet had fallen victim to his claws, so he brought Jean’s with him to his room - very carefully, using scissors instead of his inbuilt weapons, he freed the picture from the excess paper and taped it into the first empty spot he found in his photo album.

“Someone’s gonna find him before we do,” Logan groused as Jean slowly followed him in. “Someone’s gonna pick him up someplace and fuck him up more’n he already is.”

“You don’t know that,” she countered, resting a hand on his shoulder from where she stood behind him. “We’re going to find him, I promise.”

“No, don’t do that, no fuckin’ promises. ’Specially when there’s ain’t no way in hell you can keep that one.”

Jean sighed at him, very quietly, before pulling him to sit on the bed with the album still open. “We’re going to find him, okay? And when we do, we’ll get a picture of the two of you together and put it in here with the others.”

Logan didn’t say anything in reply, because right then he couldn’t.

* * *

32.

 

_He’s been looking at the file for a long time._

_Not like it helps or anything._

_He can’t read._

_They never taught him how._

_But the file has pictures._

_There’s only one picture he cares about._

_He can’t read, but he knows what it says on that picture._

**_Wolverine._**

_He has to find Wolverine._

_He doesn’t really know Wolverine._

_But that doesn’t matter._

_He has to find Wolverine._

_Because they said Wolverine just left him in that place._

_Wolverine left him in that place._

_He has to find Wolverine._

 

_He heard there was lots more people on the other side of the country._

_So he’s been walking._

_Now he’s in some famous place with a name he can’t remember._

_There’s a big green statue of some lady out in the water._

_There’s that big pointy building._

_There’s those two really skinny buildings that look the same, right next to each other._

_Flags everywhere._

_His nose hurts from too many smells, food and oil and trash and animals._

_While he was walking here people kept trying to stop him._

_But they were normal people._

_He didn’t have to use his claws on them._

_They were just dumb._

_He showed them the claws and they ran._

 

_He can see himself in the shiny parts of buildings._

_People look out from behind._

_Most of the time they don’t look like him._

_His eyes are different from theirs, slanted kind of._

_But they always have round eyes._

_So he won’t let them come near him._

_Because they scare him._

_The men in that place where Wolverine left him all had round eyes, too._

 

_He’s going to get clothes again._

_A lot of times if he shows his claws and screams at someone his size for long enough, he can get their clothes, and they run away._

_His clothes are all gross._

_They’re full of holes._

_He’s hungry._

_His hair itches, so he chops it off with his claws like he always does._

_And then he sees them._

_People._

_Bigger than him, but he’s not scared of them._

_Because they have slanted eyes, too._

 

_They don’t want to help him until he starts yelling._

_Until his claws come out._

_Then they start laughing._

_They call him a bastard._

_Because he doesn’t look like them, not really._

_His face is all wrong._

_His eyes aren’t dark enough._

_His nose is too pointy._

_His ears are shaped funny._

_They don’t really like him._

_They wave guns in his face._

_But they like his claws._

_They teach him a new word, the word for bastard in their language._

_Because that’s what he is._

_He’s a bastard._

_Maybe that’s why Wolverine left him in that place._

 

_He used to be called “seventeen.”_

_But he doesn’t really know what that means._

_Now, he has a word to call himself that he understands._

_They say he can stay even though he’s a dog._

_Even though he’s a bastard._

_Bastard dog._

_That’s his word, now._

 

_He’s strong and tough, even though he’s small._

_They like that._

_They like his claws, too._

_That makes him like his claws._

_He didn’t used to._

_They’re ugly._

_But now he likes his claws, because they have to carry knives and he doesn’t._

_His knives live in his hands._

_They like that a lot._

_They’ll teach him to use guns, too._

_To use guns like them._

_That way he can go on runs with them._

_They say things - smack, dough._

_But he doesn’t know what that is._

_It’s not important._

_He’s going to have his own guns._

_There’s people now._

_People he won’t have to yell at to get what he wants._

_They’ll teach him just to take what he wants._

_He won’t be hungry._

_He won’t be dirty._

_Just those things make it okay to be their little bastard dog._

 

_They cut his hair for him, better than he could._

_Now it’s just down the middle and it stands up._

_It looks cool._

_He likes it._

_Most of them cut all their hair off, but he doesn’t._

_They call it a mohawk._

_They try to draw pictures into his arm skin, but the pictures won’t stay._

_There’s already one on his left arm, though, by his shoulder._

_He doesn’t know what it says because he can’t read._

_So he asks._

_The other boy’s name is Akira._

_Akira reads his picture._

_It says_ **_PROPERTY OF ESSEX CORPORATION._ **

 

_He likes Akira._

_Akira’s small, too._

_Not as small as him._

_But that’s okay._

_Akira says his claws are cool._

_He thinks the picture Akira has drawn in his skin is cool._

_Akira says it’s a snake._

_He shows Akira the file and points to the picture._

_He asks if Akira knows Wolverine._

_Akira says no._

_Akira smells like he’s telling the truth._

 

_They like his claws._

_He likes their snake pictures._

_They say they’ll teach him to use guns._

_Akira will teach him to read, too._

_Akira will teach him Japanese._

_His face is wrong and he’s not as big as them._

_But they like having him around._

_And he’s not “seventeen” anymore._

_Now, they tell him he has a name._

_Daken._

* * *

33.

 

After three weeks, they were crawling forward in their quest to stop the FoH. Jean was more than ready to go back to work by now, though, because spending her days being beaten over the head by Logan’s problems was nice and all but she was neglecting the patients of her hospital’s emergency department.

And as soon as she got back to work, she was dumped with a research paper.

“Doctor Stevens was going to write it, but he got fired two weeks ago for absolutely no reason,” Dr. Warner griped as he shoved a pile of folders into her arms.

 _Yeah, he got fired because he’s a terrorist,_ Jean thought to herself. “Doctor Stevens was an attending,” she pointed out.

“I’m sorry, are you suddenly an intern again and can’t take care of yourself?” Dr. Warner demanded. “Because five doctors and two surgeons just got tossed, so you’ll have to figure it out for yourself.”

Working very hard to keep in the groan that _so_ wanted to come out, Jean put the stack in the staff room long enough to check in on her patients. Some people would’ve considered that a mistake, because she was then stuck running back and forth between cubicles until three in the afternoon, but she had no interest in doing somebody else’s research paper when she would be leaving this wretched place at the end of June.

Or at least, that was her attitude towards it until she actually saw what it was about.

Jean immediately went for the phone.

“Xavier’s School for Gifted Children, Dr. McCoy speaking.”

“Hank, it’s Jean. I’ve just gotten assigned a research paper and I need all your case studies.”

“Goodness, what’s this paper about?”

“Essentially it’s about us,” she answered. “‘Mutation and modern medicine…’ I can’t believe I was upset about this five minutes ago.”

A chuckle. “Excellent. Yes, you may have copies of my case studies. Would you like me to ask others to participate?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks Hank.”

“Of course.”

 

When Logan wandered into Jean’s room that evening, he was surprised to see her buried in papers and files.

“The hell’s goin’ on in here?”

“Research paper,” she replied flatly. “I’m sure you want no part in it, so I won’t even ask.”

“Huh?”

“Basically it’s about the unique treatments and improvisations doctors use when dealing with mutant patients instead of human ones. I’d love to publish a whole study on your healing mutation someday, because who _knows_ how many people it could help, but that’s too big of a risk with Stryker still running loose.”

“Well, thanks for not askin’, then,” Logan nodded. “’Cause I would’a said no.”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t. Logan…” Jean got up from her desk to come over and kiss him briefly. “I’d love to just sit and watch crappy TV with you while you bitch about whatever Scott or Warren said today, but I have to get started on this.”

“Okay.” Logan pretended to sulk, which got her laughing.

“Oh stop, you’re fine,” she smiled, kissing him again. “Why don’t you go order that hockey equipment you’re going to need? I know the professor found a catalog for you to look through.”

“I’m still pretty sure that’s racist,” he complained, but finally obeyed and left her alone to her research.

A list had been typed up for him by someone, which did make it much easier. Chuck said money wouldn’t be an issue, so to be on the safe side Logan filled out the sheet to order ten sets of gear in each size, alongside a fuckton of pucks, mouth guards, helmet repair kits and the like. He also decided to put in for a set in his size, if only so he could try all the crap on in order to better explain it to the kids. Color selection…?

“They’re really leavin’ that up to me?” Logan muttered, tapping the end of the pen against his desk. He didn’t even choose the colors of his clothes; Jean and Ororo went shopping for him because he didn’t like crowded stores. He ended up going with royal blue and golden-yellow, like the original X-Men uniforms.

The knock came as he was scribbling out the number of practice jerseys.

“What?”

“It’s Hank.”

“Come.”

Logan didn’t even look as the door opened behind him, more interested in extra blades for the skates.

“We may have found Stryker.”

The pen was dropped immediately so that Logan could go down with the other feral for the briefing...

...and eventually found himself losing his dinner on the jet.

“For god’s sake, Logan, Dramamine!” Scott yelled.

“Piss off,” he coughed out once he could speak again. Fuck, he hated flying. “Shit don’t work on me.”

Logan was strapped in directly behind the team leader, and as a consequence the back of Scott’s chair was now spattered with puke. Logan thought he could make out part of a burger he’d had earlier and started gagging again.

“If you get any of that on me, I’m going to force beam you out of this plane,” Scott threatened.

“My girlfriend’ll kick your ass if you do,” Logan tried to say before he was throwing up again.

“Hank, can you _please_ do something about that?”

“There’s nothing to be done,” the furred doctor shrugged. “He has severe vertigo and air sickness, but his healing factor shuts down every medication under the sun.”

“You’re paying for the steam cleaning when we get back, Logan,” Scott griped.

“Fuck you,” Logan choked out. “You think I ain’t already payin’ for your shitty flyin’ skills, bub?” His stomach was flipping again. “Oh, fuck…”

“GAH! What happened to the plastic bags?!” Scott howled in disgust. “I felt some of that hit the back of my head!”

“We ran out,” Hank explained. “And whoever was on supply detail last time forgot to restock them.”

“Well, who was that person?!” the team leader demanded. “They can help Logan clean this up when we get back!”

Hank got out of his seat and rummaged for the logbook. “According to the chart, it was… er, that’s not important.”

As one, Logan and Scott both groaned at him - these moments of agreement were rare and never lasted more than a minute at the longest, but right now there was no other reaction.

“I can’t believe this, Hank. You’re a _doctor,_ just… _how_ could you _forget_ the _puke-bags?!_ He eats way too much in one sitting, always right before missions, and then _we’re_ the ones who end up dealing with it!”

“To be fair, I was preoccupied with a third series of trials in my lab regarding-”

“No excuses! _Logan is puking on me!_ ” Scott yelled.

Who knew there actually _was_ a way to get the skinny X-Man to flip his lid. Logan made a note to himself that the next time this happened, he should do his best to target Scott. At least then it might be mildly entertaining as his guts dumped themselves out in the wrong direction.

To his relief, it seemed like there was nothing left to come up, so he was just coughing now and not retching or gagging. Logan had managed not to get any on himself, which was at least something, and he’d also fucked with Scott even if it was by accident. Really, that wasn’t bad at all.

Everything was ruined, though, when the distress call came through about half an hour into their flight - the school was under direct attack. That meant not only were all the students in danger, but their only potential lead to Stryker’s location would vanish.

 

Even several members short, the X-Men were confident they could hold their own against the Friends of Humanity.

At first.

Because in the beginning it was just a disorganized mob, with handguns and clearly not much training. Then the real threat showed its face, once they’d split up to cover various sections of the school. The FoH troopers were in what looked like military-grade body armor that they’d spray painted black, holding assault weapons and wearing helmets with goggles. They obviously meant business, but Jean couldn’t hear their thoughts, the same as how she couldn’t hear Erik’s thoughts through his helmet.

The terrorists had helmets to block telepathy.

They were carrying AK-47s, hand grenades and the occasional rocket launcher.

 _They’re not going after just us,_ Jean realized.  _They're here to get the kids, too._

Warren had been circling over the school outside, giving them updates over the comm and sending his feathers spearing down whenever he had the opportunity, but Jean felt the moment one of those hand-held missiles had been sent his way. He’d blocked most of the blast with his wing, but the force of it had concussed him and sent him plunging down onto the roof.

In the absence of Scott or Hank, Jean found herself in charge, psychically directing her friends.

_*Warren, see if you can make it to the medlab, and once you get there lay down and don’t get up for anything until we can look at your head. Kurt, get all the students to the danger room, they won’t be able to break into it without a nuke. See if you can get the professor down there, too.*_

There was a sharp jab of fear when Jean realized that until the away-team got back, it would just be her and Ororo now that Warren had been injured. Peter and Mystique were out on a recon mission as usual and with those helmets Xavier’s powers were useless. A quick passing glance at a clock told her she had twenty minutes - in twenty minutes Scott, Hank and Logan would be back to help. Until then, Jean and Ororo were on their own.

This had been carefully planned by the FoH - clearly even with their moles gone, they could easily do surveillance by wearing those damn helmets to stay hidden. They’d watched until five of the nine X-Men were out on missions before attacking, and sent in their least-trained members first as a means of distraction until the real assault. It had worked despicably well so far, because now with Warren’s concussion and Kurt staying with the students, the remaining four X-Men were down to two effective members.

Eighteen minutes until her best friend, her boyfriend and her mentor returned.

She was in mental contact with Ororo in case the FoH were tapping the signal for their comms - _What are we going to do? There’s so many of them!_

And of course if Ororo tried to fly around outside like Warren had done, she didn’t have big metal wings to block rockets with, and she couldn’t possibly react to all that firepower fast enough. That meant she was stuck inside the mansion where her gifts were of limited use.

Even frantically slapping bullets away with her telekinesis, Jean couldn’t help wondering if this was how Logan felt - to be trapped by a terrible situation, where his friends were in danger and he could probably save everyone, but only by letting free the uncontrollable rage that he struggled with. By going berserk.

Because that was how she felt now.

Swallowing back as much of her fear as she could, Jean reached for Phoenix.

On such a grand scale, she’d only done this once before, against Apocalypse. Setting loose the raw destructive force in a rain of fire, becoming a monster if only to stop another monster from destroying absolutely everything. But for some reason, she felt it more now than she had back then. Maybe it was because Xavier wasn’t egging her on this time and whipping her into a frenzy, or maybe it was the group of kids trapped somewhere that Kurt hadn’t been able to get to.

_*Storm, I need you to follow me.*_

_Why?_

_*Damage control.*_

At the end of her brief moment of pause, any fear she had - of losing the kids, of herself - simply dissolved. She only needed to direct her focus on their helmets, disintegrating bulletproof plating over zinc and aluminum psychic dampening layers. Then their minds were at her mercy, and it was only ten years of training that stopped her from killing them outright. Instead she planted blaring white noise in their heads, leaving the terrorists rolling on the floor while they screamed and clawed at their skulls in torment.

Dimly, in the back of her mind while she shielded six frightened children against a hail of bullets from a floor away, she still wondered a little - in these moments, was he only Wolverine? Was Logan nowhere in there while Wolverine lost it and rampaged through hordes of enemies? Because for her, it was like that now. Doctor Jean Grey was not the one running this show.

Instead, there was Phoenix.

 

It was only Hank holding Logan back from clawing his way out of the jet before it could finish landing in the school’s basement. There seemed to be a war party of terrorists outside, carrying as many weapons as they could without crushing themselves and armored enough to put army tanks to shame.

Inside the mansion, though, it was eerily still. There were plenty of troopers around, but they weren’t in fighting condition, all unconscious or rolling around in agony with their heads in their hands. The burn-marks on the paint in the halls told him the whole story, and Logan was smiling on the inside. Jean’s powers were amazing - she could prevent the end of the world or stop whole armies if she wanted to.

Deciding the situation was under control in the building, Logan made for an exit, claws out and ready to gut these bastards. He roared in outrage as he attacked the first cluster, shredding their body armor like wet tissue paper and sending gore spraying in all directions. He could still hear their radios crackling inside their helmets, screaming for backup until they were just screaming period and their intestines were hanging out of their torsos.

And then Logan turned to the next group, all chattering away to themselves: “That’s him! That’s the Wolverine! Switch ammo types!”

He didn’t reach them. In fact, he never even got close. Agony exploded inside his liver as the first round bored through his uniform and into his body, but this wasn’t normal pain from being shot that he would just shake off. He could even feel it breaking out the other side through his muscles and skin, leaving an exit wound he could’ve stuck two fingers into.

Blood, everywhere.

But something was really wrong, because for once, this blood was his, and the holes in his body were still gaping, not filling in like they were supposed to. Two more had spanked off his metal ribs, not reaching his lungs but leaving tears in his flesh that refused to knit.

The fourth bullet punched Logan’s left kidney, and he collapsed where he was. He could feel this one still in there, it hadn’t found its way out like the first one, and it was one of the worst kinds of pain he’d ever encountered short of the adamantium grafts.

 

She felt the sudden onslaught of injury as her boyfriend was riddled with bullets, and it was so excruciating she almost lost focus. Instead of wasting time by finding a door, Phoenix got out of the school through a window and made a line straight to where Logan had been taken down. With less than a thought, she flung the troopers away from him before tearing off their helmets and knocking them unconscious.

Logan was unresponsive when she reached him - it was clear something had gone horribly wrong here if he hadn’t been able to shrug off his wounds and continue butchering the terrorists. He was hemorrhaging from an exit hole in his lower back, but she couldn’t find a second one and that wasn’t good either considering there were two entry points that she could see.

Telekinetically if not telepathically, she felt more FoH troopers trying to approach and almost threw her conditioning out the window - they’d critically injured her boyfriend, somehow, and had showed up here in the first place with the express purpose of murdering children. As Phoenix, she would’ve loved nothing better than to destroy them with a look. But as Jean, even with all logic and rational thought pushed to the back of her mind, she knew she couldn’t do that, if for no other reason than she’d feel guilty about it later on.

So, even as she longed to kill them, she just flung them back, hard enough to concuss and break bones but without being fatal. Physically incapable of lifting five hundred pounds of dead weight, she just sent a psychic message to Scott and Hank as to the whereabouts of the remaining fighters before telekinetically carrying Logan to medlab for surgery.

 

Pain.

Logan tried to look, but the world was a dim blur and wouldn’t stop rolling him in circles. It felt like he’d been eating barbed wire.

“Hey, are you awake?”

Her hands were on his arm and touching his head, smoothing down his hair. She liked doing that.

“...Jean?” he whispered, trying to open his eyes again and still not succeeding. “...hurts…”

“I know, I wanted Hank to try giving you morphine but he said you’re still experiencing the effects of whatever those bullets were made of. He didn’t want you to have any adverse reactions while your healing factor is down.”

“Huh?”

Jean kissed his forehead. “Nothing. It’s not important, I’ll tell you when you wake up for real. Just go back to sleep, we’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay…” Beyond the pain, Logan felt really heavy. “...love you.”

“I know, I love you, Logan.”

The world left him again.

 

As Logan lost consciousness on her suggestion, Jean was half-listening to Hank chattering away with Reed Richards over the phone, but she couldn’t understand a thing the other doctor was saying.

Watching over him, Jean was distressed seeing her boyfriend in this condition. The only time she knew of where he hadn’t healed instantly was when he’d first encountered her as Phoenix and she’d burned him. That had been hard enough, even when it became apparent that in spite of an annoying recovery process he still wouldn’t have scars.

Now, he’d taken four gunshot wounds to the torso - two had just gouged him a little on his sternum, needing stitches, but his liver had ended up with a hole the size of a quarter all the way through it and his left kidney had ruptured and needed to be removed entirely. Hank theorized that once Logan’s healing factor kicked in again, it would probably just grow back, but even so this wasn’t something Jean had been prepared for in the slightest.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll pass it along, thank you.” Hank finally hung up the phone, left his desk and pulled up a chair next to Jean’s at Logan’s bedside. “Well, having faxed my analysis of the ammunition in question and describing the effects at length, Dr. Richards has explained everything in perfect detail. Those bullets were not made of lead or steel.”

“I already knew that.”

“Yes. Well, to begin with, the Friends of Humanity seem to have been combing the black market for the past two or three years - now that the Soviet Union has imploded, quite a large amount of their military hardware seems to be up for grabs. This isn’t just weapons and armor, unfortunately. According to Dr. Richards, around the same time Stryker’s outfit created the process to manufacture adamantium, Soviet military scientists were working on something similar and ultimately synthesized an alloy called carbonadium. Not only is this alloy atomically unstable and therefore radioactive, but several of the synthesizers needed to create it have _also_ been acquired from the black market.”

“Wonderful, now why did it almost kill my boyfriend?” Jean questioned impatiently.

“During their experiments, the Soviets also imprisoned and tortured mutants. They discovered something very crucial about their alloy - should a person with a healing factor encounter it externally, said healing factor will be negated for several days, up to a week. Internal exposure can take more than two months to fully recover from… assuming it’s removed promptly. Left in for any amount of time, and it will cause the death of the subject. In short, since the FoH gathered quite a bit of information on us before we found them out, they manufactured rounds for their assault rifles out of carbonadium for the explicit goal of killing Logan, or at the very least stopping him from slaughtering them wholesale like he usually does.”

“So… what does this mean for him in the long-term?”

“Well, towards the end of April or the beginning of May, Logan will be back to normal. For now, I’m placing him on mandatory medical leave from team missions and from teaching until I find evidence of his healing factor becoming active again. He’s quite fortunate, of course, that the first bullet didn’t fragment inside his liver and exited in one piece. It’s likely I’d be telling you a very different story right now had that been the case.”

Jean choked a little at that, but nodded to show she understood. Her previous words had been meant as an exaggeration, but in truth, Logan had been just a few minutes away from dying. The realization was terrifying.

* * *

34.

 

“Interesting,” Hank murmured.

“Glad I’m so inter’sting for you, furball, now quit pokin’ me in the gut,” Logan snapped. It wasn’t because it hurt, though; he was ticklish there.

“Lie back,” the doctor commanded before pulling over some kind of device. “It won’t hurt, I’m performing a scan.”

A glob of gel was smeared across the left side of his stomach and then a sensor was moved around in it. Logan tried to hold still, but the sensation wasn’t pleasant and like always the smell of this place was getting to him.

“How long’s this gonna take?”

“Please be patient, Logan. The adamantium grafts make it difficult for the imaging to appear properly.” Hank smeared more of the blue shit over the right half, now, where his liver was. “Hmm… well, I’m beginning to question the accuracy of Dr. Richards’ statement, or at least the accuracy of old Soviet military reports.”

“Great. That mean I can leave?”

“Not quite, I just need to make sure…” Hank did a final pass before handing Logan a wad of paper towels. “Incidentally, as far as I was informed, it should’ve taken you two months to recover, not two weeks. Perhaps the Soviets’ test subjects simply didn’t have healing factors as powerful as yours…”

“What the fuck ever, I’m goin’ now,” Logan growled, trying to get the gel out of his body hair. In the end he settled for “mostly dry” and looked around. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Jean threw it away, it was full of holes. Are you at least interested in my findings?”

“Not really.”

“Because your kidney has indeed grown back on its own, and there seemed to be no internal scarring at either injury site.”

“Fantastic. I’m gettin’ outta here, now, so if you wanna keep yammerin’ at me you can just follow me to the fridge.”

Hank didn’t take him up on that, and the first thing Logan did was head for the kitchen, still in just his sweatpants. He was so hungry he ended up gulping down an entire package of raw bacon to take the edge off so he could focus enough to make himself a pile of ham sandwiches. Healing from everything everywhere was great until his calories tanked, at which point he could either ransack the cupboards or start suffering. One time during a mission he hadn’t been able to stop for food after getting caught in a huge diesel fuel explosion, passed out, and caused them to fail their objective. So, this wasn’t a small deal for him.

As he chowed down, Logan checked the clock - 8:27 am. Right on time.

He finished swallowing a monstrous bite of meat and bread exactly the moment Jean came into the kitchen, almost running and still in her hospital clothes. She flung herself into his arms for a long, satisfying kiss.

“I was gonna come find you last night when I woke up, but Hank said you were at work,” Logan informed her as he sat back down at the counter. “He seemed to think it was weird, but I ain’t really sure why. Ain’t the first time I sat up outta some coma or other and been fine.”

“The rounds they shot you with weren’t normal,” Jean explained, settling beside him and stealing a bite from his sandwich. “I guess it was the Russian equivalent to adamantium… but it shut down your healing factor. You almost died on the front lawn.”

“Hm,” Logan grunted, cramming the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and all but swallowing it whole. He was too hungry for table manners right now. “Furball checked out my guts a few minutes ago and said I’m fine, though.”

“Here, let me see…”

She reached out with both hands, resting them on either side of his belly button before closing her eyes, so he assumed she was feeling around with her powers.

“So?”

Jean smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you’re as good as new.”

“…I didn’t scare you too bad, right?”

“Only a little.” She took a bite from a fresh sandwich before handing it to him.

“Here, keep it,” Logan snorted as he gave it back. “One ain’t gonna make too much diff’r’nce.”

With a quick glance down, he used his foot to drag her chair closer so he could put his arm across her shoulders. She automatically leaned into him and stayed there as they demolished the heap of sandwiches for breakfast.

 

It was decided that Logan would go back to work tomorrow - it would give Hank time to make absolutely sure there were no adverse effects to watch out for, and it also meant all the kids in his gym classes mobbed him with get-well presents of beef jerky and Slim Jims.

Jean still thought it was cute how much his students idolized him. Hank had practically been forced to beat the horde off with a stick while Logan was recovering in medlab, and now that they had their gym teacher back they were completely off the walls. It was to the point where Logan had no choice but to let himself get dog-piled by ten-year-olds holding meat snacks.

Watching them stopped being amusing after a moment, though, because they reminded Jean of her nightmares. Without the visceral terror of Logan’s subconscious to distract her at night, the last two weeks had seen her returning to her own bad dreams. Sometimes, they were even less coherent than her boyfriend’s. And sometimes they were altogether more terrible.

She could’ve killed so many people that night.

Bigots and terrorists, but people nonetheless, and where it would’ve been wrong for anyone to kill them it was even more wrong if she’d done it, having taken the Hippocratic Oath and all. But part of her had so wanted to see them die… it had been stronger after Logan got hurt, of course, because as Phoenix she’d been incredibly insulted that someone, _anyone,_ had dared bring harm to her mate. It was an ugly and raw emotion that she couldn’t help thinking had no place with her after eight years of higher education and three years as a medical professional. Those kinds of feelings shouldn’t be part of her anymore, because she wasn’t a six-year-old scrabbling after a favorite toy.

“Baby, you’re thinkin’ too hard again,” Logan interrupted, putting his hands on her shoulders.

Jean let herself be pulled out of her reflections, and when she did the furniture in the room stopped rattling. She hadn’t even noticed it doing that to begin with.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, taking a deep breath. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Ah… I wondered why I kept dreamin’ about burnin’ shit down,” Logan nodded, clearly unconcerned with the situation. “Maybe you gotta drink a little less coffee?”

“No, trust me, if it wasn’t for the coffee I’d be slumped in a corner drooling,” she tried to joke. It got him to smirk a little, at least. “It’s because of the attack on the mansion, I’ve been having nightmares since it happened.”

“Really? Why?” Logan’s students had long since disappeared, so he sat next to Jean and pulled her into his arms. “All the kids’re okay… I know bird-brain got hit with somethin’, but I doubt it made him any dumber’n he already was. And if I remember right, you kicked their asses and didn’t need nobody’s help doin’ it. You knew I’d get better ’cause I always do. There weren’t any serious damage to the school.”

“I know, and those are all good things,” she acknowledged. “But it’s not any of that, really. I had to really let go on this one, okay? The only other time I had to do that-”

“Was against Apocalypse, yeah, I know,” Logan interrupted. “And you kicked his ass, too. Sometimes that’s just what it’s gonna take.”

“I wanted to kill all of them,” Jean admitted quietly. “And I was _this close_ to doing it.”

“So?”

“So, that’s not okay. I’m a _doctor,_ Logan. It’s kind of my job _not_ to kill people.”

He gave an annoyed huff. “You’re also an X-Man. Sometimes we kill people, and far as I seen it’s ’cause they fuckin’ deserve it. If I weren’t knocked down by them fuckin’ carbonium bullets’a theirs, you know _I_ would’a done those guys in myself. Now, I ain’t too good with numbers, but far as I know, only people on our side got hurt was me and bird-boy, and that’s mostly ’cause you kept everyone and this whole place safe. That ain’t bad in my book. So stop beatin’ yourself up for feelin’ those things, you understand?”

Jean was quiet for awhile, but eventually she smiled a little. “I think that’s the most loving anyone’s been about giving me a kick in the ass.”

Logan chuckled. “Yeah, well… everybody needs one’a those every so often, right? You gave me a few, too.”

* * *

35.

 

_He’s really good at using guns now._

_But he likes to use his claws better._

_People look scared and sometimes they scream when he takes them out, and they give him whatever he wants._

_Kind of._

_They give him what he wants when he’s yelling at them._

_But those are just small wants, food and money and other things for his gang._

_He has bigger wants._

_He likes to be part of this gang, because he’s not by himself anymore and they all have the same shaped eyes as him, not like most people._

_But he still wants to find Wolverine._

_Wolverine left him in that place._

_So, someday, Daken will find Wolverine and make him pay._

 

_Akira is starting to teach him Japanese._

_He likes it._

_It’s like a secret code only used by his gang, so they can talk to each other and make fun of the circle-eyed people without getting found out._

_Akira’s also teaching him to read, so he doesn’t have to just look at pictures anymore._

_Soon he’ll know what the pictures are supposed to say._

_There are only four words he can read, the ones on his arm._

**_PROPERTY OF ESSEX CORPORATION._ **

_Akira doesn’t know what that is._

_Daken doesn’t know what that is, either._

 

_People don’t like it when he’s waving his gun around._

_They smell scared and angry._

_That makes him do it more._

_He likes it when they smell scared and angry._

_Because then he’s not the only one._

_Except most of the time he’s not scared anymore._

_Most of the time, he’s just angry._

_But that’s okay._

_He just has to find Wolverine._

_Once Daken finds Wolverine, he can make Wolverine hurt like how he used to get hurt, and then he won’t have to be angry anymore, either._

 

_One time him and Akira and Haruto hold up a store._

_He’s pointing his gun with one hand and his claws with the other._

_They’re pointed at some lady._

_She doesn’t smell scared, really._

_He hates that._

_She tries to talk to him._

_He hates that even more._

_She says she wants to help him, he should just put down the gun and they can talk._

_He shoots her to make her shut up._

_Haruto thinks it’s funny._

_Akira doesn’t really care._

_But he’s mad._

_He’s mad because she wasn’t scared of him like everyone else is._

_Everyone should be scared of Daken and he knows it._

 

_He’s not always with the gang._

_Sometimes he breaks into those places._

_Akira calls them schools._

_He breaks into schools at night when there’s nobody looking._

_He pops the locks off those little metal doors and steals whatever he likes._

_Everything belongs to the gang._

_His gun belongs to the gang._

_His food belongs to the gang._

_Even he belongs to the gang._

_But he steals these things for himself._

_Because those things are his, now._

_He has fun stealing things from those little boxes in the schools._

_But he doesn’t really know what that stuff is there for._

_Nobody really tells him when he asks._

_Haruto and Riku just kind of laugh._

_Akira just says kids go there during the day and do useless shit._

_Daken wonders if he can sneak into a school during the day, just to see what goes on in there._

 

_At night, he still has bad dreams._

_It’s stupid._

_He’s in a gang now._

_He’s safe here._

_But his dreams are still really bad._

_He wakes up scared._

_Riku just tells him to shut the fuck up when he wakes up scared._

_Akira won’t get woke up by anything until he feels like it._

_So he just sits and waits to stop being scared of his dreams._

_He has a favorite corner._

_He eats his food in the corner, too._

_Soon he just starts sleeping there._

_The corner is a safe place._

_When he’s in the corner, he dreams less._

_Soon, Daken stops dreaming at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who may not have read the X-Men comics, carbonadium is a thing and the liberties I took with its effects are very minor (unless I'm remembering wrong, in which case... whatever. I don't feel like hunting down the issues that specifically feature Omega Red.)
> 
> I know, I know, Daken's backstory. But I refer you to the first set of notes. I had to come up with something.
> 
> The thing with Logan needing that much food is just kind of a headcanon I have for him. Something would have to keep his healing factor going and I'm too scientific sometimes.


	7. 1994 - 1.

36.

 

Hockey was supposed to have started this time last year, but between mopping up the Friends of Humanity and going around the country blowing up Alkali-Transigen’s bunkers, there just hadn’t been enough time. So it was starting this year instead, with about thirty kids per cranky clawed mutant.

Logan frowned to himself as much as the cluster of kids in front of him: “How many’a you even know how to skate?” A few hands went up, maybe a third of the group. He sighed. “Alright. I get the feelin’ you’re here ’cause you like watchin’ hockey on tv, right? Well, playin’ it’s a lot diff’r’nt. There ain’t enough’a you in the same age bracket to make a team yet outta the ones who know how to skate, so this first season is just gonna be all’a you learnin’ the ropes. But I don’t want none’a you feelin’ stupid if you don’t already know how to skate, alright? I’mma let you in on a secret: I spent the whole summer fallin’ all over myself learnin’ how on roller blades when I weren’t on missions.”

The kids giggled at that. Logan spent the next hour and a half getting each student set up with their protective gear and sizing them for sticks, but no ice skates were distributed unless the kid already knew how to use them. All were issued in-line roller skates as well so that they could practice together, help each other out; in short, become teammates. As much as he’d never admit it, Logan had gotten the idea from Scott Fucking Summers’ training exercises that the X-Men did every weekend.

“Okay, you bored yet?” he asked them once they all had their stuff. He was met with a chorus of semi-dishonest “no”s. “Right. So, don’t put none’a that on yet, okay? I want you to just watch for a second.” Logan kicked off his shoes and exchanged them for the skates, then deliberately ran himself into a wall at a speed and angle that ended with his skull bouncing off the gym floor. All the students gasped even as he was getting back up. “See that?” He pointed to the already-healing split in his scalp. “Your head ain’t gonna fix itself like mine does, and even if you got healin’ too, it’s still gonna hurt like a bitch. So wear your helmets.”

Purely for demonstration, Logan showed them how to strap on all their padding over his sweats and t-shirt before walking them through the process. (With one exception - Hank had agreed to inform the boys about the application of the jockstrap. Almost half the kids in the gym were girls, so that wasn’t a subject to be brought up right now.)

“Good. Now I want you to watch again…” After a deep breath, Logan squeezed his eyes shut and punched himself in the mouth as hard as he could. He spat blood and three teeth, but pulled back his lip so the students could see them already growing back in. “That ain’t gonna happen to you, neither. That’s why you stick these over them.” He passed around mouth guards. “So can you guys just take my word for it that you gotta wear all this shit, or do I gotta keep hurtin’ myself to get the point across?”

“Please don’t keep hurting yourself, Mister Logan,” one eleven-year-old girl cringed.

Logan nodded approvingly - shock value was an excellent teaching tool in his experience, because they weren’t likely to forget either demonstration.

“Alright. One last thing before we get started. Some’a you are gonna wanna chew on the mouth guards, but you can’t do that ’cause if you do, they ain’t gonna keep workin’ way they’re s’posed to, you understand? Chew gum and pencil erasers, or on your fingernails, hell, chew on a cactus long as it’s on your own time for all I care. But don’t chew the mouth guards. Got it?” He waited for them to nod or to say “yes” before continuing. “Good. Alright, put your skates and your helmets on so I can see what you all got.”

Watching them, especially the 8th graders, made him ache inside. Even just an old photocopy of a document had him picturing his son here with them a little too easily, fluffy black hair sticking out from under the helmet and moving funny in all the protective crap. Logan sighed noiselessly to himself. His son would be 14 in a few months and they still hadn’t found him or even gotten a clue about where he might be.

Luckily for him, there were no serious injuries during the final twenty minutes of kids falling over each other; Jean had told him he wasn’t allowed to put any of them in casts on their first day or she’d have to punish him. By the time they’d finished labeling their stuff with markers and tape, it was time for dinner, so Logan sent them off to eat and just put away their gear himself. He wasn’t interested in leaving the gym, because Scott was having them do some kind of bullshit team-building exercise that somehow involved them dressing up nicely. God fucking knew what those two hells had to do with each other, but as always, Scott had apparently found a way.

At ten after six, Jean came to get him.

“You’re not getting out of this,” she insisted as she forced him to put on a clean undershirt and then those fucking black dress pants and that fucking button shirt. “And feel free to skip all the bitching and moaning, too. Assume I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Look…” Logan started, but cut himself off with a snarl. “How the fuck is this for a team-buildin’ exercise? The second I do somethin’ all the seams are gonna rip and leave me standin’ there in my god damn underpants!”

“Since when do you have a _shred_ of modesty?” Jean snickered as she looped the tie around his neck. “You used to go back and forth between our rooms in a bath towel.”

“Well, I don’t anymore.”

“Only because there’s just one room now.”

“Not the point,” Logan growled, yanking on his shirt collar with a finger in vain. He was doomed to choke all night, it seemed. “Besides, ain’t nobody but you allowed to see under my clothes, baby.”

“Damn straight,” she grinned.

At least he got one boon - instead of dress shoes, Logan was being allowed to wear his combat boots after he’d agreed to at least shine them first. In his book, combat boots weren’t supposed to be fucking shined, but that seemed like a small price to pay for even this tiny comfort. Actually, Jean had said she’d get him a new set for Christmas in two months, but he didn’t mind. The trick was to soak the boots in water when they were brand new before wearing them around all day, let them dry the next day, and after that they’d be so comfortable it’d be like going barefoot.

Jean looked gorgeous, but that wasn’t saying much because he always thought that, whether she was in a nice dress like now or still in her blood-spattered scrubs back when she’d worked at the hospital or in her team uniform - or best of all when she wasn’t wearing anything. This led him back to the thought of how impractical these clothes were for a training exercise.

For some reason, instead of the briefing room or the danger room, they were sent to one of the multi-purpose areas of the school. The team was gathered, except for Kurt, who seemed not to have gotten there yet. Xavier was also present for some reason, and he was the only one besides Jean who seemed to know what the hell was going on. Scott, for some reason, was dressed up just short of a fucking tux.

After a minute, Kurt appeared in his trademark puff of blue sulfur, still tucking in his shirt. “I didn’t mean to be late,” he offered.

“Attention, everyone,” Scott began in a very loud and… oddly excited voice. “I’m afraid I lied to all of you, but I had a good reason to do it. Kurt, come here.” They took each other’s hands. “I read once about a study done somewhere that couples who know each other for at least two years before getting married are more likely to have a successful partnership. I’ve known you for almost eleven, and we’ve been together for about two years now, but even back then, by four or five months of being with you, I already knew that I want to spend the rest of our lives together. So, will you marry me?”

Kurt just gawked for a second before answering. “I… yes! Yes, I would love to marry you, Scott.”

Everyone else was clapping, so Logan did, too, even though the noise was like jabbing toothpicks into his ears. After a fairly drawn-out kiss, Scott started talking again: “Please understand, everyone, that I didn’t pull this off on my own. I’d like to recognize the other two players for their involvement here. Charles, thank you for helping me get everything together for this, as well as letting me use the room. Jean, thank you for picking on me and making fun of me about this until I finally found the courage to do it.”

That got a laugh from them, and then (as far as Logan was concerned) came the best part: there was food and liquor. Scott must’ve been really sure Kurt would say yes if he set up a big party for the team like this.

Still feeling anguished from thinking about his son earlier, Logan tried to be subtle as he glanced over to Jean - she was with her friends and they were all holding glasses of wine. In other words, distracted. He meandered slowly over, deliberately not thinking about what he was doing in case she was listening in on him.

Scott hadn’t spared any expense, it seemed - there was all kinds of booze available. Logan knew there was at least one bottle of Jack Daniels, because he recognized the smell of the glue on the label. Besides, he reasoned that he could just have a shot or two, and it would distract him from his thoughts, maybe. Jean probably wouldn’t even know if it was only two shots, and two shots wasn’t that much, so she might not even be that mad if she _did_ find out about it.

Just two shots. Logan could handle such a small amount, it wouldn’t be a problem.

Sitting by himself in the corner, nobody noticed, not even Jean. It burned going down, but that made Logan feel better already. Fuck, he’d missed having whiskey, the comfort and ritual of it. Okay. Shot number two, the last one he’d have tonight. It took three or four bottles for him to get sloshed, so two shots wasn’t anything.

Maybe just one more. One more couldn’t hurt.

* * *

37.

 

Oh, god, somebody kill her.

Jean woke up to her alarm like always, but every single bleep from the little machine was a hatchet getting driven into her skull. Beside her, Logan was half-groaning and half-whining for her to turn that damn thing off, and after some fumbling she managed to slap the button to make it stop.

Of course, this was completely her fault, she knew. Jean wasn’t really a drinker by nature, so even two glasses of wine with Scott last night in celebration was enough to put her down for the count.

Or maybe not, because when Jean peeled her eyes open she noticed that Logan was naked, and so was she. So they must’ve gotten back up to their bedroom and had sex. Except… ah, she remembered now, she’d caught her boyfriend breaking into the professor’s liquor cabinet. He’d already been smashed by the time she found him, three bottles on the counter of Jack Daniels and Stolichnaya. He’d had a second half-emptied bottle of Stoli in his hand.

Of course, being a little drunk herself, Jean had taken him seriously when he’d wondered if they could just kiss and make up. The thing that made this concerning for her, hangover aside, was that she’d noticed feeling a little… _slimier_ than normal. The implication wasn’t a good one, because from a purely medical standpoint Jean wasn’t impressed with what hormonal birth control often did to women and as such she wasn’t on anything.

Stumbling out of bed, she threw on her bathrobe and tried to stay calm while she searched extensively for a condom wrapper anywhere near the bed; and unless Logan was lying on it right now, Jean couldn’t see one. Panic was setting in, making things around her start shaking a little, but with the crippling headache she couldn’t get control of herself and make it stop.

Going into the bathroom and finally just checking herself gave her the answer, and it wasn’t the one she was hoping for. She’d wanted to have been being paranoid about it, for it to be simple overreaction, but it wasn’t.

After a very long shower and some aspirin, Jean had a little bit of clarity, but somehow that only made things worse. She absolutely wanted Logan to find his son because he was tortured by the issue, but - selfishly - she realized she also wanted it to happen because then Logan could have what he wanted without Jean’s direct involvement. Her boyfriend loved kids, but she’d never really thought about whether she wanted to have any herself.

 _Well, you’d better start thinking about it now,_ Jean’s inner voice told her. This whole situation was so terrifying that she vowed right then never to have so much as a sip of wine for the rest of her life, because that had been at least partially to blame.

Checking on Logan saw him still completely out of it, sprawled on his back and oblivious to her mounting panic. She could chew him out for binge-drinking again at a later time, when things were a little less problematic and she wasn’t as terrified about how this might turn out.

Jean sent a psychic message to the professor, letting him know that Logan’s gym classes would have to be cancelled for the day, and on her walk down to the medlab a whole other layer of fear was realized: if Logan was drinking again, that meant he’d been regressing at least a little bit, and if he regressed too far he’d be back to the constant fits of rage and panic attacks. He’d also probably be broken by terror once he knew about the situation, and Jean just couldn’t handle that now.

Once down in medlab, she remembered that it was her month to inventory and check the emergency carts. She’d blown it off yesterday because she’d been too excited about Scott proposing to Kurt, so now that her life had taken a left turn she was supposed to worry about whether the boxes of exam gloves were expired. (Because gloves could expire, apparently. She knew she’d never understand that one.)

It was still a fight for control, trying to keep everything around her from shaking itself to pieces, and that stole her focus.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Hank offered.

Jean flinched in surprise - she hadn’t even known he was there.

“It’s nothing you really need to worry about,” she answered with a hard swallow.

“All of my pens have been floating away from my desk,” he chuckled. “Please, let’s just talk about it, I may be able to help if I know what’s going on.”

They sat while Jean broke the whole thing down, and by the end she was wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her lab coat. “I’m not even sure why he got drunk last night, either. Something must’ve upset him, but I don’t remember anything happening.”

Hank sighed and seemed to think for a minute, cleaning his glasses on his shirt. “Relapse in terms of alcoholism is generally something to be expected, I’m afraid. Until last night, how long has it been since you saw him drinking?”

“Um… I’m not sure. A couple of years.”

“That’s very good,” Hank assured her. “One incident doesn’t need to end with him falling completely off the wagon. But try not to get angry when you confront him about it - this is a habit Logan falls back on when he’s in pain, which isn’t unusual. Alcoholism is a symptom of some underlying problem, so you need to discuss it with him and find out why he got drunk yesterday.”

Jean nodded in agreement. “He’s been doing so well until now.”

“He can continue to do well so long as this is addressed correctly. Now… as far as your predicament goes, there isn’t much for me to say about it except that in two weeks we can run tests. Please, Jean, take some deep breaths.”

She obeyed and the drawers in the filing cabinets stopped rattling. “What do you think I should do?”

Hank looked her straight in the eye: “I think you should talk to Logan.”

 

After an entire bottle of painkillers to dull the effects of his hangover, Logan noted the smell of the bedroom and decided that if Jean had been drunk too and they’d ended up fucking then he probably couldn’t be in that much trouble with her. It was almost lunch, so he went down to find food and got mobbed by his new hockey players - they wanted to make sure that he would feel better after classes were over so that they could skate again.

“Yeah, I guess I can do that,” Logan smirked.

That must’ve been the right answer, because he was immediately dragged over to their table in the cafeteria so they could make him eat with them.

“I’m gonna be the blue Power Ranger!” Leo announced.

“You can’t be the blue Power Ranger, _I’m_ gonna be the blue Power Ranger!” Darren argued.

“There’s more than one Power Ranger,” Sophie pointed out. Logan watched her grin. “Guess what I’m gonna go as?”

“What?” Claire asked.

“No, guess!”

Logan took no part in this conversation, just watching them squabble companionably with each other about Halloween costumes and how Sophie couldn’t go as Iron Man because she was a girl. Leo got kicked in the shins under the table for it, and after that nobody questioned that Sophie was tough enough to be Iron Man.

“What’re you gonna be, Mister Logan?” Darren questioned.

Dammit. He knew he’d get dragged into this.

“What, ain’t I scary enough for you guys?” he joked.

“I guess… how come there’s no X-Men costumes for Halloween? All the Avengers have costumes, but there’s no X-Men costumes in the store.”

“’Cause we ain’t as famous as them,” Logan shrugged.

It was true, but that wasn’t the only reason and he didn’t feel like lecturing a bunch of eleven-year-olds about racism over limp fish sticks.

The itch-tickle in back of his head warned Logan that Jean was coming to find him, so he tried to brace himself as much as he could. Surprisingly, she didn’t start yelling - not even in their heads - and just put her hand on his shoulder from behind. “Hey, can we talk when you’re done eating?”

“It’s okay, he already ate,” one of the kids chirped helpfully.

Logan tried to look friendly to them but ended up grimacing instead. “Alright, I’ll be in the gym at four this afternoon. Your stuff’s all in lockers with your names on them.” He tossed his tray in the dirty pile and followed Jean out.

 _Okay, lemme have it, I know it’s comin’,_ he thought to her.

_*I’m not going to read you the riot act, Logan. I’m just worried, that’s all.*_

_Oh._ He tried to come up with some more words through the barrier of surprise. _Uh, well, now you’re not about to kick my ass, whaddya need?_

_*What set you off last night?*_

_I was just thinkin’ how… if we would’a found my son by now, he’d prob’ly be bein’ taught hockey right now, too. I was just kinda imaginin’ him in all the gear and fallin’ all over the place with the others. We still don’t know nothin’ about where he could be, so maybe he ain’t out there anymore at all. Stryker could’a caught up with him, or… somethin’ could’a happened._

Her hand found his.

_*We haven’t stopped looking for him, you know. Wherever he is, he’s just staying under the radar so that Stryker can’t find him.*_

Even discussing this painful issue, Logan couldn’t help feeling there was something Jean wasn’t saying to him. But he didn’t ask. If she didn’t want to tell him, there was probably a good reason for it.

 

Fear made people do stupid things.

This was an indisputable fact in a world of indisputable facts, and Jean knew it was the reason she hadn’t told Logan that truth. She was afraid.

It made her hate herself, more than a little bit, because until now she’d _always_ been honest her boyfriend about everything. Of course, she could tell herself that it was because she wanted to wait and see what the tests would say as much as she liked. That didn’t make it true, though. At least Logan wasn’t the only one Jean was lying to.

There was a laundry-list of excuses that she used in the dubious privacy of her own mind, that she should wait for the right time to bring it up or because he hadn’t actually asked her questions about it. Those excuses only made Jean feel more ill each time she made one to herself.

The worst part was not being able to make up her mind. She couldn’t stomach the thought of talking about this with Logan, because that was basically “Instant Panic Attack - Just Add Water!” But the longer she blew it off, the worse it would get when (not if) he finally found out, and she knew that.

It reminded her of being seven years old - she’d wanted to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich all on her own, but the jar in the fridge only had a little left in it. She’d known there was a brand new jar of jelly in the cabinet and climbed onto the counter the way she’d been told never to do. Of course, seven-year-old Jean hadn’t figured out to set down the jar and then climb back down, so she’d inevitably lost her grip and broke her wrist landing on it. The jelly had been unharmed, but she didn’t want her mother to find out that she’d disobeyed the rule about climbing on the counter, so she put the jar in the drawer under the sink and lied about falling out of a tree. A week later, when her father had to fix a leaky pipe in the bathroom, he’d opened his tool drawer and found the jelly; Jean was sent to her room without dinner for lying to them.

Was she really acting like a 2nd grader again?

Entering the gym saw Logan handing out sticks and telling the kids he’d teach them to skate with the sticks during tomorrow’s practice. When he turned and saw Jean standing there, he smiled like always, and that made her feel worse.

 _This isn’t a jelly jar you can put in a drawer,_ Jean reminded herself as she watched Logan jokingly slap the back of one boy’s helmet. _You need to do this._

“Alright, get the hell outta my hair,” Logan dismissed them. He came over and kissed her. “Makin’ sure I ain’t hurtin’ them too bad, baby?”

“No, you already know what I’ll do to you if you let them get hurt…” Jean tried to smile back but she just couldn’t. “I need to tell you something, let’s get dinner somewhere else tonight.”

Logan immediately frowned in worry, and that just made her own nervous energy spike. “Somethin’ wrong? I heard you thinkin’ about a jelly jar, did one’a the kids do somethin’?”

“No, I was just remembering something. Jelly has nothing to do with it.”

They ended up going to the McDonald’s drive-thru, but sat in the parking lot to eat. Well, Logan was eating. Jean had no appetite and was trying to think of how to explain.

“This must be pretty fuckin’ bad for you to just be sittin’ there and sayin’ nothin’,” Logan observed, pausing halfway through his third Big Mac. “You’re startin’ to scare me over here.”

“Do you remember anything about last night?”

“Uh… Slim made us get dressed up for his proposal. I got really fuckin’ hammered. I know we had sex but that’s only ’cause I could smell it on the sheets when I woke up.”

“Yeah, we did,” Jean nodded. “And I was intoxicated enough that I forgot to have you use a condom… in two weeks, Hank’s going to run a blood test to see if I’m pregnant.”

“Okay. And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’?” she questioned in disbelief. “Does there _need_ to be more?”

Logan put down his burger and pinched between his eyes. “Okay. Look. Way I see it, there ain’t a damn thing to be done about this until we know. Once we know, then we can start freakin’ the fuck out about it, alright? I got stuff I gotta worry about that I can actually control, so I’m sorry if that takes priority. You said two weeks, right? Why the fuck do you want us to spend those two weeks in a useless-ass state’a panic?”

None of that had even occurred to her.

“Um… wow.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought,” Logan smirked. He leaned across the seat and kissed her, very gently. “We’re gonna be okay, baby. You’re gonna get this test’a yours done in two weeks, and if it says you’re knocked up I ain’t gonna make you do nothin’ either way. Just… anythin’ you need, I’ll make it happen.”

Logan hadn’t panicked - it was really kind of amazing. Without him panicking to feed _her_ panic, Jean cracked in that moment and burst into tears. She cried into his neck for a few minutes, feeling him hug her as best he could considering they were in the cab of a truck. It was such a relief, after agonizing over this all day and remembering the stupid jelly jar as a way to make herself tell him. Now it was over with, and that by itself cut the fear down to about a third of its original magnitude.

“Okay, I gotta ask,” Logan rumbled by her ear. “What the hell is it with you and a fuckin’ jelly jar right now?”

Jean started laughing through her tears.

“Just something I got in trouble for as a kid,” she answered, kissing the corner of his jaw.

* * *

38.

 

“Okay, here’s the coming week for us: Logan, cancel tonight’s hockey practice, because you’re coming with me and Mystique to investigate a small satellite outpost that belongs to Alkali-Transigen,” Scott informed him.

“Oh, fuck you, Slim,” Logan groaned. “You know my whole hockey team’s a bunch’a easily pissed off mutant hellions, right? You keep makin’ me cancel practice and they’re gonna kick my ass. After they’re done kickin’ my ass, they’re gonna be after _your_ ass, bub.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Scott answered dismissively. “Gear up for the mission and be ready to leave by 15:30. Warren, it’s your week on perimeter watch. Peter, Kurt, Ororo, I’m sending you to Alberta - we’re in the last stage of our recon of Alkali Lake and we’ll be ready to go after them soon, so you’re going to keep tabs on them while I finish the risk assessment and operation procedure. If you notice anything change or really anything remotely suspicious beyond the norm for them, you need to report it immediately so that I can factor it in. Jean and Professor Xavier have agreed to take over your classes until you get back.”

It was surprising when Jean shook her head and spoke up: “I think you should let Logan stay here.”

Everybody, including him, stared at her in shocked non-understanding. It was expected for Logan to constantly undermine Scott and question his orders, that was essentially his job at this point, and maybe Warren would on occasion (if less effectively). But not Jean. Jean _never_ questioned the team leader or suggested alternative courses of action. It had Logan reeling in his mind, especially when he realized the reason wasn’t even a very good one: she wanted him to stay here because after yesterday’s little discussion in the McDonald’s parking lot she was still afraid enough to want Logan within arm’s reach.

It was like being in the ocean with a wave rolling onto him, and he thought he’d be okay but somehow it sucked him right off the sandbar so that he was drowning in his girlfriend’s thoughts. The idea was unbearable for Jean right now, that he had to go on missions against Stryker’s forces to potentially be shot by carbonadium bullets again and maybe even _die_ this time because if the FoH had figured that out then Stryker probably had by now as well. The force of the blow from Jean’s end of the mind-link was so hard that Logan felt at least one blood vessel pop somewhere in his left eye, making him blink repeatedly until it fixed itself.

“Um…” Even Scott was at a loss for once. “Can you at least explain why?”

“Can you just back the fuck off about it?” Logan growled, successfully drawing the attention onto himself to get Jean out of it. “I already got shit to do here, maybe you can do the fuckin’ legwork for once instead’a havin’ me catch all the damage? I had to cut shrapnel outta my lung last month for fuck’s sake.”

The team leader gave an angry huff.

“Can you just _once._ Not make things more difficult than they need to be, Logan. _Just once._ ”

“Nope,” he answered in the most indignant tone of voice he could muster up. “I ain’t goin’. You gotta problem, talk to Chuck, he’s the one wanted me coachin’ hockey in the first fuckin’ place.”

“This wasn’t a suggestion, Logan, it’s an order,” Scott tried to clarify.

“Yeah, I’m sure it was, but I’m still tellin’ you to shove it straight up your ass.” He put his feet up on the table, leaning the chair onto its back legs with his arms folded across his chest. “Half’a my hockey team’s made’a kids I rescued, so unless you got more kids need rescuin’, this conversation’s over.”

“Children aren’t always the ones who need help.”

Logan snorted and was deliberately obvious about rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look, bub. No kids and no Stryker means no Wolverine-playin’-meat-shield. You’ll just hafta do it all by yourself like a big boy for once.”

By this point, he was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t been turned to a red smear was because there were too many other people around that Scott might hurt by accident, but the intended effect was realized and everyone had clearly forgotten by now that Jean was the one who’d started this. Logan didn’t mind taking the fall for her, and he didn’t think any of the other team members would even realize that was what had gone on; they’d just put it down to him being a shithead like always.

Except for Scott, who might’ve been looking back and forth between Jean and Logan (it was impossible to tell for sure, of course). But the team leader never got into things like this in public. He’d confront them about it at a later point to gain a more unbiased perspective.

“Fine. Hank, would you mind filling in for him?”

“I suppose I can manage.”

“Good.” Scott managed to glare around the frames of his ruby quartz sunglasses in a _this isn’t over_ expression. “Now that that’s out of the way, Agent MacTaggert has also contacted us about a possible mutant-trafficking ring. She has minimal details about it so far, but it seems to be a branch of the Russian mafia. Once we have more info, she said it’s all ours. So there you go, Logan. For all your pickiness and insubordination, I still have missions you’d find _interesting._ ”

“Sounds great,” Logan shrugged, intentionally neutral to the amount of venom that had just been spat his way. Winding up Scott Fucking Summers was the best pastime that any transplanted feral Canadian could ask for besides watching the Rangers thrash the Islanders.

 _*Thank you,*_ Jean thought to him.

 _Just doin’ what comes naturally,_ he answered. _Think Slim’s gonna rip me a new one after the meetin’, though._

And, with a little over two hours before his mission, at the end of the briefing it looked a lot like Scott was going to read Logan the riot act. Again.

Scott more or less frog marched them to his teaching office like they were students he was annoyed at, which irritated Logan - he didn’t like being viewed on the same level as rambunctious, irrational children. Worse, there were two metal folding chairs in front of his desk, which only added more to the illusion of trying to punish Logan the way he would any of the kids who acted out in class.

Surprisingly, the team leader didn’t immediately launch into a tirade, instead propping his elbows on his desk so that he could rub his temples. Logan got the idea his eyes were squeezed shut behind the shades.

“Would one of you _please_ explain to me what this is about? I’ve never been tag-teamed during a briefing before.”

Logan tried very hard to hold back a snicker at how dirty that sounded. Jean’s glare silenced him after a few seconds.

“What’s it fuckin’ to you, Slim?” he growled out instead.

“You haven’t been this insubordinate in… probably almost than a year, Logan. I can tell something’s off. And… Jean, just, _why?_ Him I expect this from, but X-Men business aside, you’re one of my best friends. Couldn’t you just explain whatever this situation is after the briefing? Don’t you trust me?”

“I’m sorry, Scott, I just panicked,” Jean answered in a beaten-down tone. “It has nothing to do with you and before you ask or get that look, no, there’s nothing you can do to help. I just really need for Logan to stay here right now. He only blew up at you during the briefing because he was protecting me.”

Well, a lot of things could be said about Scott - he was too serious and he had a stupid mutation and he always needed someone to pick out his clothes for him since he couldn’t see what color anything was - but he sure wasn’t slow, because now he’d managed a very expressive look of shock despite his eye wear.

“Oh my god, are you…?”

“We don’t know,” Jean shook her head. “We’ll find out the week after next.”

“Um… well, I have to say, this really isn’t the explanation I was expecting. I do still wish you would’ve just come and talked to me after the briefing instead of letting Logan explode.”

“It’s too fun not to, I would’a found a way,” Logan assured him.

“ _Be that as it may,_ ” Scott ground out, “when you find out, tell me first so that I can coordinate the strike teams accordingly. Until then, I’ll suspend you both from field operations to be on the safe side.” The team leader sighed, very slowly and quietly. “And whichever way you’re hoping it goes, good luck.”

* * *

39.

 

It wasn’t until the next morning that Scott’s team got back to the school, and by then a certain amount of panic had already risen.

Somehow, despite Warren flying in constant patterns across the the campus, someone had managed to get past the security, break into the basement by tearing open part of the basketball court over the landing platform for the jet, pry open the doors to the hall from the inside, get to medlab without being spotted, pry open _those_ doors… and then steal every single piece of information Hank had ever written or recovered about Logan.

The only reason Jean even found out this had happened was because one of Logan’s hockey players had split her lip open badly enough to need medical attention, so she’d headed down to grab supplies and found the place ransacked. Every drawer had been yanked out of the filing cabinets and desks, papers and folders scattered across the floor. Some stapled files had been picked apart, middle pages torn straight out and stolen while leaving the rest behind.

Jean summoned her boyfriend to the site of the catastrophe so that he could check if the perp was still there, and that was when things got even more alarming - he couldn’t smell anyone at all.

Ultimately, Scott had gone around checking their security devices for possible tampering and classes for everyone had been cancelled all day. The kids loved that, of course, but the reality was that way they could be kept in their dorms while the X-Men checked every inch of the school.

Jean and Logan were now consulting with Hank and Scott even as Hank was trying to restore some semblance of order to the medlab.

“Only Logan’s data was stolen?” he repeated. The team leader’s face was blank and his visor certainly didn’t help, but Jean knew him so well that she could see the subtle movements of agitation sneaking their way into his mannerisms.

“Well, to be specific, _copies_ of Logan’s data were stolen. I have stacks of floppy discs in my office upstairs with everyone’s medical data on them, so we haven’t technically lost anything,” Hank assured them.

“This was Stryker,” Logan growled, more obviously distressed than the other two men about this situation. “This had to be Stryker. He knows where I am and he’s gonna fuck everythin’ up until he can come after me again.”

“I don’t think this has anything to do with Stryker,” Scott countered as Logan paced in a loop and chewed on a cigar. “This isn’t his style.”

“Who the fuck else would steal shit just about me and leave everythin’ else here?” the feral mutant demanded.

“Logan, please calm down and just listen for a moment,” Jean interrupted.

He stopped pacing, at least, now leaning forward against an exam table and grabbing onto it so hard it seemed like he should be denting the metal.

“Let’s look at the details,” Scott decided. “For starters, this wasn’t a professionally executed ingress. There are tears and dents all over the surfaces of the doors, and the hole in the basketball court almost looks like it was hacked open with a shovel. Everything else was done with brute force to widen the gap so that they could get in, but the holes they made weren’t even big enough for me to fit through. So, we’re dealing with a single person or maybe two people at most, small stature, extremely strong and very persistent.”

“A mutant,” Jean caught on.

“That’s my guess, yeah,” Scott nodded. “The only way Stryker may be involved is that he’s using his Weapons Plus program to brainwash young mutants into executing these plans for him. It’s not something we would’ve expected until now and that way he wouldn’t have to try sneaking an entire strike team in here to steal the data. Nothing else fits, though. From what we’ve seen of Alkali-Transigen, they would’ve taken everything they could get their hands on, and I don’t think it would’ve even been this subtle; there would be explosives involved and attempts to capture any number of us who were here at the time of the attack.”

“Who else do we know of that could’ve pulled this off, though?” Jean questioned. “There aren’t many groups who could get through all of our security, steal this much information, and leave again before we discovered the structural damage.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Scott admitted. “And the lack of scent doesn’t make any sense, either.”

Hank finally joined the conversation: “I may be able to explain that detail. An analysis of the air showed trace amounts of pheromones, which may have been intended to block our olfactory glands and prevent us from tracking them. Unfortunately, given the amount of time between the break-in and my return, there was sufficient space for it to dissipate and I wasn’t able to determine if this was simply a mutant ability or if the pheromones were synthetic.”

“I see,” Scott nodded. “That _does_ lean a little bit toward Stryker… we still don’t know where half his bases are and our operation at Alkali Lake isn’t going to happen until next Wednesday. With the amount of resources at his disposal, I can see him coming up with a means to counteract heightened senses.”

“But that doesn’t tell us why he would want to steal Logan’s data,” Hank pointed out. “If anything, shouldn’t he be more interested in _our_ medical files?”

“Well, like I said, that’s why I don’t think this was necessarily Stryker. He would’ve had them take everything. The only reason I can see him wanting files he already has is to compare and find any new information on Logan.”

Logan himself had gone back to pacing, and Jean frowned when she saw him spitting shreds of tobacco every so often - he must’ve really been chewing on that thing.

“Actually…” In that one word, Scott sounded like he was having an epiphany. “Logan, come over to the door for a second, let me see your claws.” Jean almost had to drag her boyfriend over, but the claws were indeed shown. Scott was making noises in his throat as he looked back and forth, finally sighing. “Dammit. Never mind… I had a thought just now that maybe the blade-damage could’ve been caused by something made of adamantium since that _is_ one of Stryker’s trademarks, but… no. They’re too jagged here and I’ve seen you cut through the side of armored vehicles. Hank, when you were in the holding cell with the others, did you remember anything Stryker said? He had other areas of the lab that held subjects we didn’t see.”

“He wasn’t particularly friendly with us, Scott,” Hank pointed out. “He interrogated us to see if he could extrapolate Charles’ whereabouts. That was all.”

 _No, Scott, don’t do it,_ Jean thought nervously.

Of course, Scott did it.

Even as he was slowly looking over to Logan, there was a hand in his shirt, a wall to his back and three very sharp metal blades pointed directly at his carotid arteries. The team leader hadn’t even started opening his mouth to ask before he was pinned.

“Logan, Scott, stop it,” Jean ordered, carefully pulling her boyfriend away. She looked at Scott: “For your safety, you need to stop trying to ask him about this. When has it _ever_ ended well for you?”

 

An emergency team meeting was called for the afternoon. Logan was still stewing anxiously in his own head - he didn’t even want to know what Stryker was planning this time. (Despite Scott’s words, Logan was sure that Stryker had something to do with this).

“I’ve contacted Agent MacTaggert about the incident, but she hasn’t replied yet,” the team leader was explaining. “Unfortunately we have no leads on who did this. Hank and I think it may have been a mutant who was responsible, but the only indications we got were from structural damage in the basement. The biggest problem is our upcoming mission at Alkali Lake. The ball’s already rolling for that one so we need to focus all our efforts on it. The break-in is going to have to take a backseat for the time being. Still, if you see anything around the school or on the campus that I might’ve missed, report it immediately.”

“I think we’ll be fine, if Wolverine gets stolen, whoever grabs him will figure it out pretty quickly and give him right back,” Warren snorted venomously.

“Not now,” Scott snapped, probably glaring behind his glasses. He and Warren were friends, but during briefings that counted for nothing. “Logan, I know your first impulse will be to attack me when I say this, but I don’t have a choice. We’re going to need you to come with us to Alkali Lake next week.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question,” the team leader barked. “I’m going to need everyone to be able to pull this off. Professor Xavier has been checking in with Ororo periodically since they arrived at their reconnaissance post and nothing they’ve seen so far is good news for us. There’s been major shipments coming and going at a constant rate, and from what they could see it appears to be some type of major robotics project. If they’re trying to revive the sentinels on their own, we’ve got to get a handle on things and fast. To do that I need everyone, including you.”

“What part’a ‘no’ do you not get, Slim? I ain’t goin’ back to that place, not now, not ever.”

“Logan-”

“Scott, stop, please,” Jean interrupted. “You can’t make him do this.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Scott insisted. “I’m already painted into a corner - I was forced to contact Erik and ask for _his_ help with this operation. But even with him and his cronies I’m not sure it’ll be enough. Peter did a run-through of the place the last time he was on recon there and Mystique did a thorough exploration of it at one point. That bunker is _enormous_ and we’ll inevitably be forced to split up.”

“How’s about you ask some’a your G-men pals to help you out?” Logan demanded. “’Cause I still ain’t goin’ and you can’t fuckin’ make me, bub.”

Scott folded his arms across his chest briefly, but Logan only bristled and gave him a hostile growl. This ended with him getting slapped out of his chair and against the wall by Warren’s wing - hit square in the chest, he didn’t even wait for a dislocated rib to pop back into his breastbone before he was slashing out and shaving the ends of the other X-Man’s metal feathers off. Warren shook the wing irritably to knock the ruined weapons free and let the new ones grow in their place. Neither made any more moves to attack each other, but the tension still ran thick in the room.

And then Jean, without even needing to point her fingers, was shoving them both down into their chairs.

Scott was rubbing his temples when Logan looked again, but it didn’t last long before the team leader was back on track. “For the last time, this isn’t a request. We need you there, Logan. That won’t suddenly change just because you don’t like it. I know they tortured you there but that was almost eleven years ago and you have a job to do.”

Okay, _that_ pissed him off.

“You know what they did to me there, huh? You fuckin’ _know?_ ” Logan pushed back his chair and stormed across the room to grab Scott and shove him hard into the wall. Hank was in his lab and Jean was apparently not participating, which left only Warren and Mystique to try and pull Logan off their teammate. They were backhanded away for their efforts. “You ever been stuck in a saltwater tank while metal gets injected into you, bub? You ever been held down by half a dozen guys who’re beatin’ you to a fuckin’ pulp with their guns just ’cause they fuckin’ feel like it? You know what any’a that’s really fuckin’ like?” Logan shook Scott and heard the other man’s head smack against the wall - not enough to do damage, but it was sure to hurt for a few days. His next words were a hiss: “’Cause that shit was a _good_ day for me down there.”

Forcing his fingers to uncurl themselves, Logan stomped purposefully out of the briefing room. He didn’t know what the fuck Scott was trying to pull, but it pissed him off all the same. Just the idea of going back to that hell was springing up broken images behind his eyes of himself and others being tortured and experimented on. They’d all been in those brownish-green army clothes, usually several sizes too big or too small, while the soldiers guarding them were in gray uniforms and black tactical gear. Logan’s clothes were all shredded from trying to escape all the time, until only the pants were still there with the lower legs stripped clear up to his knees.

Someone was following him - he recognized Jean’s scent just in time to stop himself from whipping around and punching her in the face. If it’d been one of the other three, he would’ve.

“He’s not doing it on purpose, Logan.”

“Like fuck he ain’t.” Jean had caught up and was now pacing down the hall to his left. “When’s he gonna fuckin’ learn not to ask for shit like this?”

“He wouldn’t have asked this time if he wasn’t desperate,” she insisted. “I don’t want you to have to go back there either, and you know that, but if Stryker’s trying to get the sentinels off the ground again it needs to be stopped as soon as possible.”

Logan stopped to stare at her, disbelieving. “You ain’t _seriously_ makin’ me go.”

“When I was seven, I saw a news broadcast on TV of Erik taking over eight sentinel robots and turning them against a group of humans. Just eight of them, under control of another mutant. If an army of those things was under the control of humans, they’ll destroy all of us. Don’t you remember what Hank and the professor said? Those things are the reason not-you came back in the first place. To stop them.”

Logan forgot what he was about to say when Mystique approached. It surprised him a little because usually they just ignored each other. Of course, she didn’t even address him, instead turning to Jean: “Mind if I borrow your idiot boyfriend for a moment?”

“Um…”

Apparently Mystique thought something to Jean, though, because it made her nod. The blue mutant crooked her finger at Logan. “Come with me.”

Annoyed but somewhat curious, he obeyed and got even more irritated as she led him into the damn medlab.

“Do you need something, Raven?” Hank questioned.

“Can you show Logan the autopsy reports I stole from Trask’s office?”

“I… suppose I can, yes. May I ask what this is about?”

“No, this is between us, Hank. Sorry.”

The blue furball dug through several stacks of files that still needed reorganizing and it was almost twenty minutes before he came up with a battered tan folder. After it had been handed over, Mystique left again and Logan allowed himself to be towed along with minimal grumbling. They stepped back into the hall and he noticed Jean watching them in silence and clearly trying to hold back tears. When the folder was opened, he understood why.

“Several decades ago, the first team of X-Men faced off against the Children of the Atom and then against the humans we were trying to help.” She flipped to the next horrific photo. “These autopsies were performed by the scientific team of Dr. Trask right before the end of the Vietnam war, and not all of them arrived to him dead. They were experimented on, tortured, and ultimately killed just for being mutants.” Another snapshot of a body with the technical details beside it. “This research was used as the basis for the sentinel program. We stopped it from happening once before, but now it may be happening again and Scott’s right about needing everyone he can get. If we don’t stop them, everything my friends died for-” She gestured to the autopsy reports. “-will mean nothing. They were tortured and killed, Wolverine, just like you were tortured and probably almost killed. If you don’t help now, we might not be able to stop them. And then more mutants will suffer... and be tortured... and be killed. Your choice.”

The old file was shoved into his hands and Mystique sauntered off without another word. Logan flipped the folder shut - he couldn’t look anymore. He could gut FoH terrorists without flinching, he’d watched his flesh be ripped from his bones more than once, but this was another thing entirely. It reminded him too much of the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this segment is about 4 pages shorter than normal, but that's because I'm aiming for the next one to be nothing but their attack on Alkali Lake.
> 
> The thing in the beginning about soaking your combat boots is a real trick. Actually it works on any pair of new boots, and is an excellent way to prevent blisters.


	8. 1994 - 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This segment is also a little shorter than normal, but I've now put up two parts in two days (between 16000-20000 words total), so I don't feel all that bad about it.
> 
> Trigger warning for intense graphic violence - we get Wolverine doing what Wolverine does here.
> 
> Psylocke is mentioned briefly here, but she's not a character because she only had like 4 lines in XMA so I don't know enough about her to make her a character.
> 
> For a small amount of time at the beginning Logan may appear to be acting OOC, but he's not and it gets explained/dealt with.

40.

 

The magnetic field made Logan feel like his body was trying to turn itself inside out.

Their comms were shielded by small, minor fields, but the large one that Erik was generating kept them safe from surveillance devices. Alkali Lake was less than two miles from them, both groups meeting at the insertion point - the Brotherhood and the X-Men. Logan was also plagued by a tingling thought from Jean the entire time, because four of these people had once been En Sabah Nur’s disciples and were now all together in one place again… Warren had once been Death, Psylocke was Famine, Ororo seen as Pestilence and Erik, of course, had been named Judgment. Logan only vaguely knew what any of that meant.

“There are three points of ingress,” Scott briefed them. “One for cargo, one for personnel, and one that’s used to impound the prisoners. The prisoners’ entrance is the door you escaped from, Logan, if that helps.”

“It don’t,” he snorted. He remembered nothing of his escape except for Jean’s voice whispering his name into his thoughts.

Jean was now trying to squash down the deja vu about Apocalypse’s “horsemen” and instead seemed to be worrying about the students - Agent MacTaggert had called in favors for them like always, so until they returned from Alkali Lake, the school was under US military lock down and guarded by two platoons of green berets. Logan was impressed by that despite himself - the lady must’ve had some damn strong pull with someone to achieve such a thing.

 _Hey, stop thinkin’ about it. They’re gonna be okay,_ Logan sent to her.

_*I know, I just… yeah, I know they’re going to be okay.*_

They were both still a little shaken - three days before Jean was supposed to get the damn blood test, it stopped being necessary because biology had given them an unmistakable answer. Logan still wasn’t sure how he felt about that, and even stranger was that Jean was more mixed-up on the issue than him. Still, this meant Scott had two extra bodies at his disposal for the mission. Logan had grudgingly let himself be talked into this on one condition: Jean was to be within grabbing distance at all times.

“Mystique, Beast, you’re on me. We’ll enter through the personnel area so that we can gain immediate control of their command center. Warren, Ororo, I want you to keep up a constant perimeter around the site, make sure nothing gets in or out without my say-so. Nightcrawler, Quicksilver, you need to run back and forth between each team. If anyone needs backup or extraction, you help them out or get them clear. Wolverine, Phoenix, your only job is to find out if Colonel Stryker is here. If he is, take him out by any means necessary. If need be, I may call on you for backup, but other than that I want you to focus on your objective. Magneto, Psylocke, take point - see if you can’t at least get the bulk of the soldiers incapacitated for us so that we have a clear path to the prisoners and to any intelligence. Toad, Sabertooth, Juggernaut, I want one of you at each entrance as insurance. Stay in constant radio contact, everyone; that place is a labyrinth. Go.”

They moved out and Logan was oddly thankful for it. Some of Erik’s cohorts made him uneasy for reasons he couldn’t explain, like they’d wronged him in a past life or something. (Not that he believed in that shit.)

Being floated telekinetically by his girlfriend’s powers was a lot different from traditional flying. For one thing, it didn’t make him need to puke, because he trusted Jean to keep him aloft more than he thought a several-thousand-pound scrap heap flown by Scott Fucking Summers (a.k.a. the least considerate god damn pilot ever) could do the job. For another, he could see _everything_ going by underneath - all the trees and streams and whatever all else made up a forested wildland. The perspective was kind of amazing, being able to look down on a habitat he could live in comfortably given the choice.

 _We gotta go campin’ again someday,_ Logan thought to Jean idly.

_*That sounds nice, yeah.*_

Logan had never seen the bunker from the outside that he remembered, but from this distance it didn’t look like much. A couple of metal holes in a landscape already starting to freeze over despite it only being October. But it still made fear start trickling into his thoughts, the slow dripping of a leaky pipe feeding bad memories into his mind’s eye.

 _*You’re okay,*_ Jean insisted gently. _*If nothing else, just remember that I won’t let them hurt you.*_

That got him to snicker a little: _You gonna keep me safe from the bad guys, baby?_

 _*Absolutely.*_ They were within a mile, now, but it didn’t matter too much when she could just convince the enemy they were blind with no effort on her part. _*All we have to do is make sure Stryker’s not here, and once we know he isn’t, we can leave the bunker and wait outside just in case Scott needs backup for someone.*_

 _Thought Slim’s been doin’ recon’a this place for a year and a half, how do we not know where the fuck Stryker is?_ Logan complained.

_*Because we can’t keep our eyes on two dozen potential locations at once.*_

She was being sneaky, he realized, trying to subtly turn off the part of his brain that told him to be scared of this place. Logan wasn’t sure he wanted her to, though - in a location like Alkali Lake, if you weren’t pissing yourself with fear it was because you were too stupid to realize how bad shit could and would get for you down in that hole.

[Sound off when you’re in position,] Scott reminded them over the comm. [Including any of you who aren’t X-Men. I need to know where everyone is at all times so that we can maintain a coordinated attack.]

[Three of mine are at their designated starting points,] came Erik’s annoyingly calm voice. [Sabertooth and Juggernaut have already engaged the humans. Toad is simply waiting for them to begin exiting through his assigned door. But please, Mr. Summers, don’t be surprised should they fail to listen to you.]

[I won’t be,] came Scott’s indignant answer, [but that doesn’t mean I’ll turn a blind eye to any needless killing that’s done by you or your team. We’re here to put a stop to their operations, not conduct a needless slaughter.]

 _Yeah, good luck with that one, bub,_ Logan thought. _He does know who he’s fuckin’ talkin’ to, right?_

 _*I think he wouldn’t be able to function if he didn’t try to get through to Erik at least once every time they have to deal with each other,*_ Jean laughed.

 

Jean couldn’t say that it bothered her a little, because in reality it bothered her so much she could barely focus on anything else.

Oddly, there’d been a twinge of relief from Logan. She figured out fairly quickly that it was a tainted feeling, though. He didn’t know if he’d be able to handle a baby when his son was still out in the world, needing to be found.

But there were more expected emotions from her boyfriend, too. He was sad and disappointed to some degree, mainly because planning things out beforehand was never his strong point no matter how much he hated to be surprised. For him, the idea of having children with her was fascinating and put him in a strange awe. Logan, being very much in love with her and also kind of a sucker for whatever his students asked from him, wasn’t afraid of the concept. He liked kids and he knew how good he was with them. There was no way around the fact that Logan would be a great dad given the chance.

It made Jean wonder how much of her own disappointment was actually his.

Well, sometimes. She seemed trapped on a pendulum between relieved and sad, with a few other random things tossed in every so often. Planning was important for everything in her book - not to the uptight impossible standards that Scott often went for, but enough to provide predictability and structure where it was needed. And of course, she loved her boyfriend, but his impulsive nature could be exhausting sometimes. Having children was something you thought about ahead of time, got yourself ready for, discussed with your significant other before trying _anything._ So, in that sense, Jean was very relieved.

On the other hand… she didn’t hate kids or anything, not even the ones who were deliberately mean to everyone around them. Given her mutation, it was impossible for her not to understand why they did the things they did, so unless they were annoying to her for its own sake, Jean found it hard to get mad at their behavior most of the time. She’d probably be more than okay having kids at some point. But it hurt, seeing and feeling how bothered Logan was by the outcome. As far as he was concerned, anything Jean created would be beautiful, and maybe he could add something useful to the mix as well.

 _You think real loud sometimes, baby,_ Logan commented.

_*What? Oh. Sorry.*_

_Don’t be, least now I know you think about me almost as much as I think about you,_ he chuckled.

Then the psychosomatic illness was threatening to rise in him again, and Jean carefully soothed it away from his mind. Logan hadn’t gotten airsick on the jet for once - he’d been so terrified of returning to Alkali Lake that he hadn’t been able to eat anything prior to the mission. That by itself was incredibly dangerous. For combat he needed upwards of forty five hundred calories per twelve hours to keep his healing factor at full capacity. Beyond even this major issue, though, it also really showed how badly his trauma could affect him after more than a decade. Somehow, Jean was still disturbed by that.

 _*Logan, listen to me. Your fear is crippling you,*_ she told him. They were hovering about a thousand feet over the compound, waiting for the rest of the X-Men to be in position before making their entrance. _*You can’t let it do that. Find your rage again, we need you to be angry.*_

The muscle tremors were threatening to start, his breathing was already a little off. It was so ugly to Jean that such a magnificent predator as her boyfriend was being crushed into psychological train wreck just on seeing this place; in any other situation he’d be bitter, angry, vengeful, blood-hungry. But in this place, there was no Wolverine and there was sure as hell no Weapon X anymore, in fact there was barely any Logan. Most of him, here at Alkali Lake, was the blistering trauma and abuse that stalked through his nightmares.

 _*It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,*_ Jean tried reminding him. Even floating on her telekinesis she was stopped in one place as easily as standing on a kitchen floor, letting her reach out safely to brush her fingers on his arm. _*I’m going to be right next to you the entire time we’re in there. They can’t hurt you because I won’t let them.*_

She threaded lightly into his subconscious, trying to dampen his terror and dig the berserker back up from wherever he’d managed to bury it. It was almost like they were back in the early days of their friendship, where normal human behavior was beyond Logan’s reach and he was dominated entirely by his instincts and PTSD. Except that now even his instincts were failing him. They should be telling him KILL KILL KILL and she knew it, but they’d gone oddly silent.

 _I can’t do this,_ Logan tried to insist. _I can’t go down there again, already escaped once, don’t think I could do it twice._

_*Hey, calm down, you won’t have to escape. I’m going to be there with you and I’ll keep you safe from them. We just have to find the man who made you this way and kill him, that’s all. I know you can do that.*_

Jean was surprised at herself as soon as the words trailed over to Logan. Scott hadn’t specifically said “kill,” he’d told them to stop Stryker by any means necessary. An order of death had not been explicitly made to them. But already her fingertips were warm and her blood was tingling - Phoenix. The part of her that was Phoenix was drawn to the part of Logan that was Wolverine, two wild and untamed personality traits capable of immense destructive rage. And as Phoenix, she was angry that the mind of her mate had been toyed with to make him incapable here.

* * *

41.

 

Logan could feel it like it was happening to himself as Jean let her powers start to rise up. She was so much stronger and more potent than him, she could do anything that came to her mind.

The Phoenix fire was licking against his brain, finding something that it immediately cut off from his thought process and made him less afraid of whatever waited for him in that concrete hell. His muscles were unlocking again, his claws snapped out easily between his fingers.

_Thanks, baby._

_*No problem.*_

[Everyone in position?] Each team sounded off over the comm. [Excellent. Go.]

Psylocke and Erik went in first through the cargo loading doors, and even being held high above the ground Logan could still faintly catch the noises of death from within for the first few seconds. Scott blasted in the personnel hatch next, Hank and Mystique following after him. Already there were guards streaming out of the third door - the one for prisoners - which saw them flung against all manner of hard surfaces by Toad’s disgusting tongue.

_*Come on, that’s our cue.*_

Jean lowered them quickly but carefully to the frigid ground so they could make their entrance. Strangely, Logan’s brain recognized the weapons Stryker’s troops carried as if he was personally familiar with them - M4 assault rifles with reflex sights and mounted lasers, holding thirty-round magazines and fitted to the occasional M203 underbarrel grenade launcher. He thought they might’ve been using MP5 machine pistols the last time he’d seen them, so apparently they’d learned. Not like rifles could usually stop him, automatic or no.

Even as his foot touched the floor, Logan was already leaping forward with his claws out in front of him. Six men in gray camouflage and black Kevlar… the first was simply decapitated. The second was messily eviscerated even through his body armor, spilling shredded intestines as he dropped into a lifeless heap. Logan slashed downwards with his right arm to slit the third soldier open from chin to belt in a wash of dark gore - it got into his glove through the openings in the knuckles that accommodated his blades.

Pain bloomed on Logan’s forehead as a bullet tore through his skin and spanked noisily off his adamantium skull, succeeding only to blur his vision for a second and make him really, really angry. With a loud snarl Wolverine lunged - one swipe of the claws to hack the barrel clean from the gun, a second to slice off the soldier’s left arm at the elbow, and then spearing him through the face to put him down.

They were yelling into their radios: “We need backup! Weapon X is here!”

_Weapon X._

That was all they knew him as… well, fuck it. They wanted Weapon X, they could fucking have Weapon X because it made no difference one way or the other. By the end of the day, he would destroy every one of these bastards for what they did to him.

A tiny corner of his mind understood that Phoenix was minorly pulling his strings, keeping him safe from the psychological triggers that would otherwise render him useless. Even if that little speck of reason hadn’t been drowned out by the screaming rage in the rest of his head, he would’ve been fine with it.

Trooper number five died in agony as Wolverine ripped a gash through his ribs and tore strips of heart tissue out with his claws, causing a fountain of blood to paint the wall and floor in the immediate area. His pupils weren’t any bigger than the holes left in a bulletin board by a tack, sticky gore smeared across his team uniform to make the black leather even darker.

Three claws per lung, jabbing clean into the Kevlar and then piercing the flesh beneath to give the sixth man identical trios of sucking wounds. The red fluids spattered across his face a little when he yanked his knuckles free again, little drops of salt-iron from the life leaving the soldier’s body.

 

There was no reason for Jean to be so damn pleased with herself over the fact that she’d pulled Logan free of his rut, because now he was completely out of control and in the beginning stage of a wholesale slaughter. His claws were dripping red and he was storming forward in a whirlwind of carnage, completely ignoring any bullets that found him when normally they’d still slow him down for maybe a second or two. He was terrifying and glorious like this, punishing the organization that had wronged him.

“Cyclops, this is Phoenix, Wolverine’s gone berserk,” she reported, neglecting to inform the team leader about her own part in the situation. “I hope you didn’t want to interrogate any of these guys later.”

[Dammit… I gave him _one job_ to do, just find Colonel Stryker. It should’ve been the simplest, easiest thing for him to accomplish, but I guess he can’t even get that right.]

“Apparently not,” Jean lied.

 

The scents were attacking him like the troopers were - cleaning agents, lab chemicals, pain, fear, rage, blood, death. The rage and the blood and the death belonged to Wolverine, though. He could smell those things on himself.

Stab to the vulnerable jugular and the soldier dropped. Claws into the next one’s guts, yanked upwards to eventually stick up through the chin and into the brain. The noise pounded on his eardrums, bullets and screaming and the crackle of radios, but Wolverine mostly only heard himself: “GRRRRAAAAA _AAAAAAAAUUGH!_ ”

A grenade launcher round landed right next to him. Wolverine was thrown heavily to the side, breaking chunks out of the concrete wall from his weight. He didn’t hit the ground, though, because he was already back on his feet and charging before the next explosion could be sent his way. Two flicks of his wrists took the enemy’s hands off and then his blades sliced out a generous piece of skull.

Doors.

Wait, what?

He couldn’t get through them, they were locked by a keypad and must’ve been thicker than his claws were long because he couldn’t slice the metal apart. Vaguely, some amount of Wolverine began resembling Logan again: “The fuck am I s’posed to do with this?”

“Hang on,” Jean replied.

He watched her eyes squeeze shut and then he could hear the groaning of locked gears being forced to move, pulling the blast doors open and gaining access for them. And Logan immediately scrambled backwards, gripped with fear again.

It was the lab.

 _The_ lab.

Holding tank of greenish-blue salt water with instrument tables beside it, all the drill-injectors lined up neatly on their racks. Molten adamantium bubbling away menacingly in its container, giving off the stink of ozone that put agony in back of his mind. Logan had heard once that people couldn’t actually remember pain, they only remembered how the pain had made them feel emotionally at the time, but clearly those people had never been part of the Weapons Plus program. His arms and legs were on fire and he couldn’t breathe.

 _*Logan, Logan get up,*_ Jean ordered, her hands under his arms.

Get up? When the hell did he fall down?

 

Jean felt the moment that Logan’s mind flash-flooded with terror, and then he dropped to his knees with his hands on his head. It didn’t make any sense - he should be able to fight this, but for some reason he wasn’t. Maybe it was because she hadn’t experienced any of this herself and that’s why she didn’t understand his reaction now.

“Come on, Logan, we need to keep moving, more soldiers are going to get here soon,” Jean urged, trying to pull him back to his feet by his shoulders and not succeeding. He seemed to be trapped in that position, not moving or saying anything while she struggled with is non-response to her. Jean got in front of him, lightly slapping the sides of his face to no effect. His hazel eyes were glazed, the pupils were almost blown… was there something doing this to Logan? Maybe a chemical in the air here that only affected him?

“Mystique, this is Phoenix.”

[Go ahead.]

“Wolverine’s behaving very strangely, did you ever find any intel that could explain why? He’s just sitting here and not moving.”

[Where are you now, Phoenix?]

“It’s a large room with surgical tools and a tank of discolored water.”

[I see. We’ve just breached the control room now, I’ll start looking.]

“Thank you. We’ll hold position here until you have something.”

[Understood. Cyclops says that if it takes more than ten minutes you’ll need to have Nightcrawler extract you.]

“Got it.”

Ten soldiers were on their way up the hall towards the lab room, some with those big belt-fed machine guns… Jean telekinetically “felt” the bullets and realized they were tipped with carbonadium. Had Stryker been counting on Logan finding his way back here, or did some of his current prisoners have healing factors? Either way this wasn’t good news for her boyfriend if he got hit.

Jean ticked her powers up another notch, enough to give her an advantage over the situation but maintain control. She stood over Logan (who was still more or less hunched into a ball on the floor) and materialized a bubble of telekinetic force around them both, which would stop even the large-caliber machine gun rounds and launcher grenades.

The bullets were popping and bursting off the invisible bubble, giving Jean a sort of petty satisfaction when she saw the frightened and bewildered expressions of the troopers. A launcher grenade just bounced right off and created a small pit in the concrete floor near one of the instrument cabinets that had been built into the wall.

[Phoenix, this is Mystique.]

“Go ahead,” Jean acknowledged, making a swiping motion with her hand that flung the soldiers into the walls and knocked them unconscious.

[I’ve found a file that may explain Wolverine’s issues. It’s not specific to him, but apparently Colonel Stryker and his team always plant subconscious triggers into their victims’ minds to help control them better. These triggers will cause the subject to have ‘an overwhelming fear response to the point where they may become catatonic…’ is that what he’s doing?]

“Yes, that’s exactly how he’s behaving,” Jean confirmed worriedly.

[It’s just another level of psychoactive conditioning. If I had to guess, the reason he was able to fight back and escape after you opened his cage in ’83 is because of the Weapon X training - it overrode the fear reaction.]

“Dammit,” she answered. “All his Weapon X training’s been scrubbed by now as far as I know…”

[It’s not the end of the world,] Mystique insisted from the other end of the comm. [Use your powers - see if you can find the trigger in his subconscious and disable it. That should fix the problem.]

“Understood.” Jean flicked the blast doors shut at the other end of the operating theater and disassembled the outer keypad; she would probably need all her focus for this and couldn’t afford to be interrupted by more attackers. She got on her knees beside her boyfriend and wrapped her arms around his shoulders - _*Don’t worry, Logan, I’m getting you out of this.*_

He was trapped in the ugly memory of this room - being cut open and grafted. Pain and fear radiated from him, almost not letting Jean get closer by bogging her down with his suffering. The frigid temperature of the water had burned him almost as much as the liquid metal alloy being injected into his skeleton, and Jean felt herself flinching in real life as she reached into the tank. He thrashed against the needle-drills, the restraints, her own careful hands… right now there was no difference. Anything touching him in his mind-space was another instrument of torture.

Jean tried to pull the surgical tools free, but each time she got one out of his arm or his chest a new one seemed to grow in the same spot like on a hydra from an old myth. So she attempted to get the water out of the way, but it kept welling up to the same level endlessly. Pushing the scientists aside did nothing, a replacement worker stepping forward for each one that got shoved back into the hazy gray edges of the illusion. Finally Jean just panicked, grabbed onto Logan and dragged him out of the tank with every piece of stubborn determination she could find within herself. The drill bits snapped off and stayed in his muscles, the rubber-clothed torturers reached out…

...but after a second it all dissolved and Jean was just kneeling on the floor again, clinging to Logan as tightly as her arms could manage. They were both breathing like they’d run triathlons with lead weights in their clothes.

His eyes found hers: “Jean?”

* * *

42.

 

Logan struggled to remember where he’d gone for the last few minutes while Jean kissed his forehead and pulled him off the floor. He knew this room, they’d implanted him with the adamantium here… had he wandered off for a moment or something?

“It’s okay, you just got stuck on something,” Jean explained.

“If you say so,” Logan frowned.

He poked along one wall briefly, discovering several files in plastic folders - all about current test subjects. Flipping through them proved to be disturbing but not surprising, and apparently it wasn’t just adamantium grafting that happened in this lab.

Jean put the call out for Kurt over the comm, and in less than twenty seconds the teleporter had found them.

“You said intelligence?”

“Possible intelligence,” Jean corrected, all but glaring at the papers Logan had handed over. “We may need these later on if they pertain to any of the prisoners we recover down here… take them to Beast, see what he thinks.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks,” she called after him even as he vanished.

“Can we move now?” Logan questioned, trying not to sound too annoyed. It wasn’t Jean he had the problem with, after all. He just didn’t like being stuck in this damn room.

“Yeah, we should get going,” she agreed. Then she made a face. “There’s four soldiers outside that door and they’ve loaded up with carbonadium rounds, do you want me to just take care of it?”

“No,” he grimaced. “I can handle it.”

Logan didn’t like guns and he never had, but he also didn’t want Jean to have to kill these assholes because he knew she’d feel bad about it later on. So bearing this in mind he went over to the knocked-out troopers near the exit. He picked a magazine from one of them and sniffed at it so that he’d know the alloy’s scent going forward, then gathered up ammunition and grenades before selecting the best-maintained M4 of the group and swiping another’s grenade launcher. Even unable to get close with his claws, they’d still meet their deaths by his hand.

Something felt horrifically familiar about holding an assault rifle. Logan immediately had the impulse to advance in the same bent-kneed fashion as Stryker’s troops always did with his eye at the sight, to check his corners, to take care when using the grenade launcher in a hallway because he might bring the ceiling down on himself. Where this information had sprung up from in his mind, he didn’t think he ever wanted to know. Logan had no interest in imaging himself as a soldier.

He crouched slightly to the side while Jean forced the doors to open, and clearly the four men on the other side hadn’t expected to be shot at because they weren’t even trying to take cover. Not like it mattered in the end.

Logan quickly discovered that carbonadium, while capable of downing him with one hit, was also incredibly effective against armored human soldiers. He shot the first one through the eye and watched brain chunks explode from the back of the helmet; the second one was laid out when the shot bored into his chest and then all the way back out to bite a piece from the wall, probably having gotten the major arteries over his heart because the blood spray was rather spectacular.

The third shot from Logan’s stolen assault rifle hit at an angle because the guy was moving, but it hit nonetheless, ripping a gash through the jugular; the soldier collapsed, gasping and choking for awhile before he finally stopped moving. Number four was shot between the eyes… or at least Logan thought it’d been between the eyes. The guy’s face was now a gory red crater.

Four men, four shots - four kills. Logan really, really hoped he never found out where he’d gotten so good with a rifle.

The next room down the hall was like Hank’s office at the mansion. Filing cabinets everywhere, stacks of folders on the desk. One of those table-size computers and a printer with a small box of floppy disks.

“Think we’re gonna need some help with this one,” Logan snorted, glancing over his shoulder at Jean.

“Call it in, then,” she smiled

He tapped the button on his comm. “Quicksilver, this is Wolverine. We just found a fuckload’a intelligence, see if you can’t come get it. We’re in… uh, some kinda office, past the adamantium lab.”

[Yougotit, I’llberightthere.]

It still looked weird to Logan anytime he saw Peter doing his thing - a slight gray blur in the space as shit just disappeared right out of the room. The filing cabinets were now pulled open and emptied, as was the desk. The computer was even snatched along with its floppy disks.

“I’m tryna remember…” Logan frowned to himself as they left the office and began moving deeper into the complex. “Should be another lab around here somewhere. Think there’s more’n one, anyway.”

A minute change in the air’s scent read another squad of troops, silent and unmoving around the corner. Clearly they thought they could ambush him this way and had forgotten to take his nose into account.

Logan crouched, carefully sliding open the grenade launcher tube and placing an M209 inside. Reaching into a pouch on his stolen LBE belt produced a frag grenade, perfect for flushing out enemies from cover. He was gambling; if he’d wanted to kill them outright with the frag grenade, he would’ve “cooked” it a little, but given their body armor he didn’t think it was an effective method. So instead, he yanked the pin and heaved it down the hall, watching it bounce and then skitter around the corner.

The ploy paid off. Three soldiers dove out of cover only to be immediately hit by the launcher grenade. Logan managed to catch one square in the chest with the M209, ripping the Kevlar right off to leave a bloody mess of splintered ribs and shredded organs. The shrapnel from the blast tore through a second man’s right arm and the side of his neck not fully covered by his helmet. Crippled and bleeding to death, the trooper dropped into a tangled pile. The third man was relatively unscathed until Logan gunned him down, putting two rounds through his torso and one through his skull.

There was at least one still around the corner who’d run the other direction from the frag grenade, but when Logan rounded it he saw that the man had been cut down by the initial blast. The soldier was moaning on the floor, bleeding from both arms and legs, so instead of making another shot Logan walked right up to him and speared him through the sternum with his claws.

The corner wasn’t a corner, though - it was a junction.

The left side was another hallway. The right side featured a set of heavy blast doors, and through the grated windows Logan realized this was the second operating theater he’d been trying to remember.

“Bust this open for me?” he asked, looking to Jean.

“Sure, hang on.”

She cranked them apart and they went in to look. There were three surgical tables with plastic hanging curtains between, surrounded by instrument carts and wheeled supply cabinets… and crates of electronic components? On the carts, groups of power tools were intermixed with the surgical instruments and antiseptic gel packets.

“They’re not building sentinels,” Jean whispered, looking around the room with wide eyes. “They’re making cyborgs in here.”

 

“Cyclops, this is Phoenix.”

[Go ahead.]

“Wolverine and I have just entered a secondary lab room. There’s only minimal intelligence in the operating theater, but from the look of things Stryker’s working to cybernetically enhance his soldiers. There’s electronics and prosthetics all over the place… I’ve never seen anything this advanced. All those shipments we saw before had nothing to do with sentinels.”

[Damn. Alright, I’ll send Quicksilver back to you again so that we can bring all of it back to Beast’s lab with us. Since you’re there, see if you can find any test subjects he may be using for this program. Do we know if Stryker’s here in the compound?]

“Not yet, Wolverine’s still hunting him… they’re employing carbonadium ammunition against him. He hasn’t been hit so far, but if something happens we’ll have to extract him immediately.”

[Understood.]

“SoshouldIjsuthangaroundyouguysfortherestofthemissionorwhat?” Peter joked after abruptly showing up in the operating theater.

“Maybe,” Logan shrugged flatly, clearly indifferent. “Grab all this shit and get it back to the jet.”

Peter glanced around at all the materials: “Jeez, aretheybuildingterminatorsdownhereorsomething? MaybeArnold’llshowupandstartgoingafterusnowwithabiglasergun.”

“For fuck’s sake, just grab this shit like I said so I can get back to work,” Logan snapped.

The crates of electronics and the cases holding the prosthetic limbs were all recovered from the operating theater. Moving along the hall, Jean watched Logan precisely snipe a trio of Stryker’s thugs before they had time to even aim at him, and she couldn’t help being impressed. Her boyfriend was equally as deadly at long range as he was in close quarters.

The first door looked like it was for a maximum-security holding cell, but it was curiously unlocked. Opening it revealed no prisoners, though; it was set up as a medical care station, monitors and an IV around a man in a patient gown who was missing most of his left arm. Jean reached for the clipboard hanging on the edge of his bed.

“Would you like to tell us what you’re doing here?” she demanded, understanding that the guy wasn’t here against his will.

“Go to hell, mutie bitch.”

For this, Logan backhanded the guy right off his bed, sending him crashing through the monitors. The feral mutant yanked him up by his patient gown and got right in his face.

“Answer the fuckin’ question or you’ll get to see what your insides look like.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the man grinned, his teeth pink with blood. “Don’t worry. They’ll be taking care of all y’all soon enough.”

As Logan beat him to a pulp, Jean looked back at the patient chart and the words jumped out at her: **CANDIDATE FOR EXPERIMENTAL REAVER PROGRAM.**

* * *

43.

 

“They’re not prisoners.”

It was all Jean needed to say to him. Logan speared the guy in the hospital gown through the heart and dropped him on the floor.

“So’re they the ones all’a that shit in the lab was for?” he asked as his girlfriend checked the room for intelligence and came up empty.

“It looks like it. Apparently it’s part of something called the ‘Reaver Program,’ but I couldn’t tell you what that actually means,” she answered. Her eyes closed for a moment. “There, you won’t have to waste more time killing the test subjects now.”

“What, you do it for me or somethin’ just now?” Logan questioned.

“No, they’re not dead. We can hand them over to the CIA for questioning later on,” Jean explained. “Come on, there’s prisoners and an army scientist we need to track down.”

Stepping out of the repurposed holding cell, Logan sniffed deeply and noted with mild surprise that there were no soldiers in the area. Grudgingly he opened his comm.

“Cyclops, this is Wolverine. Where the fuck did all’a my targets go? It was just startin’ to get fun down here.”

[That’s not your problem,] Scott huffed from the other end. [I want you to find Colonel Stryker. That is your _only_ job, Wolverine. Find Stryker and incapacitate him.]

“Well, I ain’t found him yet, so what am I s’posed to do in the meantime?” Logan demanded.

[Nothing! Absolutely nothing! _Find Colonel Stryker!_ ]

“You’re fuckin’ helpful, thanks Slim,” he snapped, letting go of the button by his ear. Shaking his head, he scented the air again and paused. Fear and pain… a captive. “There’s prisoners up ahead.”

They broke into a run, which made the M4 bounce annoyingly against him where it was slung over his back. The end of the hall gave them the first locked containment room - Logan’s claws snapped out so he could shear through the hinges and the electronic lock, letting the thick door fall forward. Inside, though, was a very strange setup. Despite being an amputee (his hand and leg on the right side were missing), he was chained to the wall behind a set of inner bars and the cell was lit by a kerosene lamp - no electrical systems in place to be seen.

Logan slashed open the lock on the barred door and carefully took a step into the holding area. “Hey, you alive over there, bub?”

The man raised his head - he was a mess of purple bruising, so much so that he couldn’t even open his eyes.

“I already did what you needed.”

“What? We never met before. I ain’t here to beat on you… I’m one’a the X-Men, we’re gonna get you outta here and maybe some medical help.” Logan severed the chains and then carefully slit open the cuffs on the man’s wrist and ankle. “Okay… hang tight, we’re gettin’ you outta this place in about two seconds.” He hit his comm. “Nightcrawler, this is Wolverine. We got a prisoner needs extractin’, he’s wounded real bad so you gotta do it instead’a Quicksilver.”

[I understand. Where are you, Wolverine?]

“Follow the bodies,” he snorted.

Kurt puffed into existence just outside the bars. “Ah, yes, I see why my power is preferred here.”

Instead of wasting a few seconds watching, Logan was already on his way out of the holding cell. He’d seen two sets of three scratches along the floor inside - he’d been dragged through there a long time ago. It wasn’t something he needed to relive in his head right now.

Logan entered the hall again and groaned at the set of blast doors a few feet from the room - he was getting sick of those fucking things. They took forever to open and were generally just in the way. Apparently Jean agreed, because instead of turning the gears like normal she just jabbed her finger at it and sent it smashing inward almost exactly the way Erik would’ve done.

Inside the next hallway, they encountered rows of ordinary prison cells, presumably for less powerful mutants except that these were completely empty. That by itself unnerved Logan, because he knew they’d been crammed full back when he’d been a detainee here himself.

A scent grabbed him the second he began walking forward.

Arrogance bordering on narcissism had its own smell, bits of how a man stank when he lied through his teeth mixed with a disturbing level of glee because he knew he could get away with whatever he liked. Underlaid was also hints of triumph, clearly having been celebrated with champagne… gun oil… leather combat boots… the dull odor of Kevlar held in place by nylon straps… and buried under it all, the tiniest speck of fury, clearly because of some perceived wrong or something that should’ve been under control but wasn’t.

Logan felt every hair across his body stand on end as this horrific bouquet of smells punched the inside of his nose. It brought back the memory of other scents, rubber and burning metal. But he had no interest in those. His brain flooded with absolute fear, his blood instantly spiked with an adrenaline dump. He couldn’t ever forget this scent or what it meant for his life.

But after less than a second of frozen hesitancy, Logan was shot through with the purest and most intense feeling of rage he’d ever known.

Only three words came to Wolverine before he forgot how to use them entirely: “I found him.”

 

_[Cyclops, this is Phoenix.]_

_[Go ahead.]_

_[Wolverine’s found Stryker. He’s here in the compound.]_

_[Good. Don’t let either of them get away from you.]_

_[I’m trying not to, he’s really moving… I can barely keep up.]_

_[You need to keep up with him, we can’t spend half an hour trying to find Wolverine again once the mission’s over and we’re ready to leave.]_

 

The halls whipped along to either side of him. Doors left unexplored. Maybe there was more enemies behind them.

Irrelevant.

People talking in his ear. Teammates. They wanted him to slow down, to be careful or systematic or something.

Unimportant.

Wolverine hacked his way through the very last door. Stryker was pointing a sidearm at him, but there was no chance to use it because Wolverine already had him pinned to the concrete wall with three claws in each shoulder. Their noses were almost touching as Wolverine snarled in his face, and then (probably with some help from Jean) he was Logan again. He needed to be Logan for this.

“Carbonadium, huh?” he spat after sniffing to determine what type of bullets had been loaded into the pistol. “You waitin’ on me to come back here, bub? Congratulations. Here I am.” Logan twisted his claws a little, drawing a howl of pain so that Stryker couldn’t have the chance to talk. “Yeah, bet that don’t feel too good… well here’s the thing, bub. What you did to me didn’t feel too good, neither. So let’s see how we can make it better…” Logan threw Stryker to the floor and held him there, right palm pushed hard to his breastbone while a single left claw remained extended. “Been thinkin’ about doin’ this for almost thirteen years… so try and enjoy it with me, bub. This’s gonna be a real fun time.”

The flash of terror in Stryker’s eyes at the moment he realized what would be done to him was more delicious for Logan than a London Broil steak.

He slit right through clothes and body armor, taking care as he drew the wounds not only that they were in the exact same locations as they’d been on his body but that he didn’t sever any arteries or nerves. He wanted the fucker to feel every second of pain, just like he had. First, the collarbone, even with a Kevlar plate in the way. Logan relished in the scent of the blood welling up from the opened skin.

Vaguely, his ears registered something going on behind him, but he couldn’t give a shit right then. It wasn’t anything he had to worry about, because he had Stryker under his claws and nothing else mattered.

The arm was next, staining the gray fabric of the sleeve closer to black. Along each of the bones in the hand. Logan slashed off the body armor in order to see what he was doing better, drawing cuts along each individual rib. The screaming hurt his sensitive ears, but they were also the sounds of retribution. Logan switched hands to get to the other arm, and - confident Stryker wouldn’t be able to get up because of the pain - he moved down to slice along the leg bones.

Someone, maybe, was yelling his name over and over again, but Logan ignored them. Very slowly, making sure Stryker could feel every inch, he inserted a claw right into the liver; enough to cause crippling agony without killing him right away.

“Good,” Logan half-hissed and half-snarled out, like Stryker had answered a question correctly instead of lying on the ground screaming and in excruciating pain. “Good. Here’s the thing, bub… don’t think I could ever _really_ make up for all the shit you put me through down here. But this… think this gets pretty close. Don’t you?”

With that, Logan raked his claws along the man’s ribs again before getting off the floor. The feral mutant left Colonel William Stryker there to drown in his own blood.

 

Jean had forced Scott and Hank back for the third time already when Logan slowly emerged from the room, claws still out and leaving a trail of gore that was dripping from the pointed ends. He was watching the floor and shaking with rage; at this horrific sight, Hank and Scott immediately decided not to say any of the things they’d been planning on. It was probably a wise choice on their parts.

“Are we ready to move out?” Jean asked, breaking the others out of their stupor.

“Uh, yes, we are,” Scott nodded after clearing his throat. He tapped on his comm. “This is Cyclops to all X-Men, mission accomplished. All resistance has been neutralized and all intelligence has been recovered. Report topside at the cargo entrance in fifteen minutes.” The team leader sized up Logan, then Jean. “Maybe you should just get him back to the jet.”

“Y’know I’m right here,” Logan growled.

“Well, you didn’t seem like yourself,” Scott explained carefully.

“What, ain’t I pretty enough for you, bub? You not like my style’a gettin’ shit done?”

“Enough. Just report topside like everyone else, Wolverine,” Scott insisted with an irritated shake of his head.

Jean wasn’t looking forward to refereeing the two of them later on when her friend inevitably bitched out her boyfriend for not following his orders to a T the way the rest of the team and even Erik’s followers had managed to do. It didn’t even make sense for Scott to give Logan a bunch of crap about it either, because Jean had been the one more or less in charge and if they had followed orders and only focused on Stryker it probably would’ve been a lot more difficult for all that intelligence to be recovered by the rest of the X-Men.

As they made their way out, Jean noticed the jangling coming from Logan’s right hand. He was carrying Stryker’s dog tags as a trophy.

Gathered outside again in the cold air, Scott gave them a run-down of what would happen once they got back to mansion while Erik and his cohorts destroyed the bunker from the inside out.

“We’ve gathered a sizable amount of intelligence and experimental material during the mission. However, there was only one prisoner that we found and we have nine volunteer test subjects who’re going to be turned over to Agent MacTaggert once we get back to the mansion. This operation was extremely successful for us. Good job, everyone.”

“What about Stryker?” Mystique wondered.

“He ain’t gonna bother nobody after today,” Logan answered, holding up the blood-spattered chain with the tags rattling around on it.

Several members of the team made faces, but the blue shapeshifter just nodded in an almost approving way. She and Stryker had also had some discourse in the past.

Once they’d gotten back to the mansion and turned over the detainees to the CIA, Jean didn’t even wait for Logan to finally eat something before she was dragging him upstairs to their room still in his sticky team uniform. His gloves were plastered to his skin from all the blood that had run into them through the gaps in the knuckles, to the point where Logan ended up just slicing them off with his claws. (It wasn’t like he couldn’t get new ones.) Jean peeled him free of the jacket and then his undershirt, which seemed glued to his body with his own sweat. Eventually he did the rest himself, and once in the shower with all the gore on his hands and in his hair rinsing away, she watched him finally break.

Logan wasn’t crying per say, given that he was absolutely silent about it, but even under the spray of water Jean could usually pick out which drops were tears. Massaging the shampoo into his scalp and then scrubbing him clean with the bar of soap, she still smiled, because in reality her boyfriend’s response was a relieved one.

No matter what happened going forward, and in spite of the past, Logan had made absolutely sure that the monster who’d tortured him could never hurt another person again.

 

The X-Men threw a party for themselves that night in the form of a late dinner, but at least it wasn’t fucking formal like the last one. They’d taken over one of the rec rooms and lined up a pair of folding tables to make a sort-of buffet with various kinds of food on it; Jean must’ve said something to Scott, though, because Logan couldn’t find any alcohol.

Slumped into a couch with a heap of pork chops in Cheriyaki sauce, though, he didn’t mind as much. The only two who weren’t present were Hank and Chuck, who were both down in medlab tending the prisoner Logan and Jean had helped rescue. Apparently the guy was a mutant who’d been tortured into building the prosthetics and components for Stryker because he was just intuitively good with that shit.

“Do you feel better?” Jean asked quietly as she sat down beside him with a more reasonable plate of food.

“Kinda, yeah,” Logan nodded after he’d finished swallowing. “Maybe now I can stop dreamin’ about the fucker, too.”

They were both having the same thought, that a large portion of his issues was probably over with. And about time, too. After more than a decade, Logan was free, and only one more wrong needed to be righted that they knew of.

“We’ll have more time and more resources to look for him,” Jean murmured, leaning slightly against his side while they ate. “It’ll make a big difference. And now at least we know that Stryker didn’t have him.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, maybe we’ll find him, now.”

“Attention, everyone,” Scott yelled out. “I promise I’ll try to keep it short, but there’s a couple of things I want to get out there. First, I just got off the phone with Hank - he said that after a couple of weeks the mutant we rescued will have recovered fully, and by that point we may have a new team member… the details are still pending but I should have them by next Wednesday’s briefing. Second, and this isn’t quite as good news, we now know definitively that Colonel Stryker was working directly for the Department of Defense. However, Agent MacTaggert has friends in the FBI and they’re going to investigate for us.”

“Wow, is there _anyone_ she doesn’t have pull with?” Warren remarked.

“You may resume eating, everyone, thanks for your attention.”

* * *

44.

 

It was only the day before Halloween, but this seemed like the right time.

“Alright, guys, just remember the makeup might be stuck on your skin for awhile, you’ll have to really scrub to get it back off,” Jean reminded them.

All thirty of them acknowledged her words with at least a grunt even if they didn’t actually look at her. Some were brushing the poster paint onto the tongue depressors, others were using yellow magic markers to color the white masking tape as best they could. Jean couldn’t help smiling as she watched her boyfriend’s hockey players buzzing about their work excitedly. This had actually been their idea, but they’d come to her about it because they wanted to surprise Logan. The prospect was so cute that she couldn’t resist helping them pull it off.

Even the older kids on the “team” thought it was funny, which surprised her. Normally they’d be too _cool_ to participate in a joke come up with by two eleven-year-old girls, but it just went to show how loved Logan really was by his students. They were doing this for him.

Luckily for the kids, Halloween was on Monday, which meant that today there were no classes and they had plenty of time for their project. Jean finished the last kid’s face paint and moved on to the pile of gloves - they were those cheap knit winter gloves that were so thin it was almost as bad as wearing nothing, especially when it came to snow, but they were perfect for this.

Each student was in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, both black, and black shoes or boots if they owned any. The yellow tape was pressed onto the fronts of their shirts in a big X, three silver-painted tongue depressors were taped to the back of each hand and then those cheap gloves over top with a hole for the “claws” to stick out of. They had face paint along their jaws in the same color as their hair (or as close as Jean could find) to look like Logan’s chops - even the girls - and a couple of minutes before he got there they all lined up in front of the door to the gym.

The intended effect was achieved: as soon as Logan arrived, he burst out laughing and didn’t stop for almost a full minute. At first his players were all trying to growl the way he always did, but they ended up in hysterics as well.

“Alright, alright, everyone back in line. Logan, you get in the middle,” Jean commanded, slipping the loop for the camera off of her wrist before looking through it. “Aaaaannnd… snarl!”

She took three pictures total - one of them mimicking Logan’s angry expression, one of them all making faces at the camera or laughing, and a final one of them all holding their sticks with huge grins on their faces. Even Logan was smiling.


	9. 1998.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for Daken - he's a racist little shit.

45.

 

“Dada up!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Logan snorted, scooping Laura out of the crib. She made a grab for his scruff and he tilted his head, having learned the hard way how strong her grip really was. “C’mon, let’s go have breakfast.”

Jean was already in the medlab - those two new kids had been put in a room together and so far either they got along too well or not at all, because John had burned Bobby and Bobby had almost given John hypothermia. She had not been thrilled to go down there before six in the morning, and Logan really couldn’t blame her. Laura yelling across two rooms for _him_ to get up at around 6:30 was bad enough.

“No, that’s for you,” he chuckled when she tried to “share” by sticking the spoon out in his direction. “See? That’s your food. I got my own food right here.”

Laura paid attention to what he said, but that didn’t mean she was very obedient about it. After giving up trying to “share” the baby cereal, she moved on to a new game of “name the thing.” This was an exercise Jean did with their daughter to try and help her learn to talk or something, so now Laura was jabbing a tiny fat finger at random objects in the cafeteria and trying to say the words for them. At that moment, Scott walked past the table, and her reaction shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was - she pointed to him and very enthusiastically yelled out, “Bub!”

Scott, for his part, had apparently forgotten that he had no sense of humor, because in response he laughed so hard that he fell down and almost couldn’t breathe. Logan couldn’t help his own minor bout of hysterics, too. After getting a grip on himself again, he reiterated to Laura that she needed to eat her food and use the spoon through a grin that stubbornly refused to leave his face.

Jean found them as Laura was finishing up with breakfast (more than half the food had gotten on her face and clothes instead of into her mouth) and Logan was tossing back his fifth glass of orange juice over his third heaping plate of sausage.

“Rough mission yesterday?” she questioned, sitting next to him with an omelet and some coffee.

Logan kissed her briefly before replying.

“Yeah, it got annoyin’ in a hurry. Still think we should’a just left Slim with them sewer mutants.”

“I don’t think Kurt would like that,” Jean chuckled. “I can’t believe he let himself get captured in the first place. What was he even _doing_ in Manhattan? I thought he was doing his investigation in Brooklyn.”

“Who fuckin’ knows,” Logan shrugged, crunching down on a fistful of the fatty meat strips. “I guess the Morlocks had some kinda beef with those Marauder guys a little while back… don’t really remember the specifics.”

“The Marauders are the ones interacting with a handful of New York City street gangs.” Scott dropped into the seat across from Logan. “You need to pay better attention during briefings.”

“You need to not fuckin’ bother me when I’m tryna eat with my family in peace,” Logan growled.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind them being here,” Scott deadpanned. “And since you don’t bother listening during team meetings, I just thought I’d be helpful and remind you of everything right now. The Marauders are our best lead to Essex Corp and they have ties to several street gangs. Besides that, there have been rumors in the last few months that some of those street gangs feature mutants as prominent members. That damages our reputation even more than Erik and his thugs do, so we need to put a stop to it.”

“Still think we should’a just left you there as a pet for that bitch,” Logan answered. “Then at least I wouldn’t hafta listen to your boring-ass lectures no more.”

“Punish him for this,” Scott addressed Jean before scooping up a bite of Corn Flakes and still irritatingly refusing to leave the table.

“I can’t do that in front of Laura,” she replied in a flat, not-taking-sides-on-this-bullshit tone of voice.

Speaking of Laura. She was now whining and flapping a hand in the direction of her mouth, and Logan obliged by sliding out a few inches of claw for her to chew on. Scott blanched.

“ _How_ is that safe in any way shape or form? Won’t you cut her jaw off?”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault she bites right through the fuckin’ chew toys,” Logan snapped. “Stop tellin’ me how to raise my own kid, Slim. You don’t even got one’a your own so you don’t know a damn thing about it.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Scott admitted with an oddly sad note in his words. “Adoption agencies are bigots.”

“Because you’re gay?” Jean frowned.

“No, actually, usually it’s because we’re mutants. And if it’s not one or the other, it’s both.”

Logan was only half-listening to Scott’s bitching and moaning, much more interested in the distanced feeling of Laura grinding the points of her emerging fangs on his metal claw. She didn’t have very many teeth, but the ones she did have were so ridiculously sharp that she’d once bitten his thumb and drawn an impressive amount of blood. Such strong x-genes in both parents usually showed earlier than normal, or at least according to Hank. Somehow it had still managed to catch him with his fucking pants down, though, because everything about his daughter did that. It made him wonder when he’d stopped being “Wolverine - Berserk Brainwashed Killer” and instead become “Logan - Ill-Prepared Panic-Prone Dad.”

Really, though, he liked the second option a hell of a lot more.

 

Laura was almost two years old now, but watching Logan with her was still kind of amazing.

At the very beginning, Jean had anticipated being pulled in every direction at once between being a doctor (and by extension Hank’s lab assistant), being an X-Man (once she was physically back in a state where she could _be_ an X-Man again), her boyfriend’s issues (even though they’d considerably reduced after he’d tortured Stryker to death) and the wonderful little circle of Hell that was being a new parent.

It hadn’t turned out that way at all.

Logan had pulled more than his own weight on the issue, giving up his gym classes for an entire semester after Laura was born, always getting out of bed in the middle of the night himself so that Jean could sleep, running any errands required for the newborn. He’d only been able to keep coaching hockey because it was after classes ended each day so Jean could leave the medlab by then. He’d also predictably refused to go on every team mission that semester unless his skills were critical for its success, and even then he’d still put up fights about it.

That intensely self-sacrificing attitude was still 1000% there in him, without any complaining or fuss in a way Jean was slightly ashamed to admit she hadn’t thought Logan would be capable of before Laura came along. His previous gripes were all silenced and his inherent semi-selfish attitude seemed to be extinguished; in their place was now a refined and improved version of her Wolverine. Fatherhood looked good on Logan and he wore it like a badge of honor. From what Jean gathered, that was exactly what it was for him.

Of course, when Logan brought Laura to the weekly team briefing that afternoon just for the sake of proving a point to Scott, that was another thing entirely.

“Logan, _no,_ ” Jean groaned as he set their daughter on the table in front of him and let her chew his claw.

“What? Slim wants me to participate in his damn briefin’s, right? Well, here I am.”

Jean couldn’t help rolling her eyes like everyone else was doing. “Couldn’t you get Kitty to watch her again?”

“Yeah, right. I ain’t turnin’ over my kid to a fourteen-year-old keeps fallin’ through the floor. Y’know what happened last time, right? Fell through the floor _holdin’ Laura._ Lucky for both’a them, Laura just fell through too and didn’t get hurt.”

Scott loudly cleared his throat. “Can you have this discussion on your own time, please? Thank you. The Marauders have managed to steal some things from Reed Richards’ lab, and before you ask, no, I don’t know how they actually managed that and neither does he. Apparently they thought breaking into the Baxter Building to swipe common lab chemicals would be a fun time for them even though everything they stole can easily be bought in a hardware store… but they also managed to trash the place and Reed is still taking inventory to find out if anything more valuable was taken.”

“In my opinion,” Hank began slowly, “these Marauders have some type of overarching agenda from their handlers at Essex Corp. A string of thefts regarding random useless items and the attempted mass murder of innocent mutants are somehow connected even when they appear not to be.”

“My guess is that the burglaries are a distraction,” Scott answered, building on the doctor’s point. “They’re doing it to draw our attention away from their true motives. Unfortunately we’re _still_ not any closer to learning what those objectives are.”

“Aren’t they tied in with street gangs, too?” Warren asked, making a face.

“Loosely,” Scott nodded. “At least, we know they have contacts in several criminal organizations, including the Russian and Chinese mafias. The _Organizatsiya_ run an international human and mutant trafficking operation. After we intercepted one of their ‘shipments’ we picked up a couple new students four days before the… um… _incident_ with the Morlocks.”

“Incident my ass,” Logan snorted. “That weird lady wanted to keep you as a sex toy. Guess nobody told her you ain’t into people that don’t got a Y-chromosome, huh?”

“Be that as it may, the fact remains that the Morlocks are only the latest batch of the Marauders’ intended victims. Actually, Logan, your best buddy Sabertooth got attacked by them at one point. I guess he forgot to tell you the last time you got together for tea.”

“Rancid fuckin’ hairball,” Jean heard her boyfriend mutter.

“According to Erik, Creed won that fight, but overheard something about ‘unwanted genetic material’ while they were beating on him. We haven’t really worked out what that means yet except for the obvious, being that Essex Corp is heavily involved in biophysics and eugenics.”

“Do we even know who’s in charge of this corporation?” Jean wondered. “Has Agent MacTaggert found out yet?”

“Agent MacTaggert is retiring in two years.” Scott shook his head. “We have new contacts in the CIA that she’s setting up for us to use when she _does_ retire, but a lot of them aren’t necessarily experienced like she is. Half of them don’t even know the first thing about mutants… Besides, right now they’re more interested in the whole deal with that Groat guy. I guess he was involved in extortion of some kind. And even without that they’re still trying to work out that cocaine trafficking scandal.”

“Great,” Warren snorted. “Why do we work with those guys again?”

“They didn’t used to be like this,” Mystique pointed out.

“Whatever, they suck now,” the winged mutant snarked.

“Luckily we’re not focusing on the CIA at this moment,” Scott interrupted. “We need to deal with the Marauders.”

“We should start small,” Forge suggested. “If you get me the coordinates of the gangs’ hangout spots I’ll rig up something so we can find out how they’re interacting with each other.”

“Sounds good,” Scott nodded. “Take Logan with you for security.”

“No,” Logan immediately grunted.

Laura stopped teething on his claw and flapped a hand at a random corner: “Bababababababa!”

“See? She don’t want me to go, neither,” Logan chuckled, watching the toddler bite down on his inner right blade again.

“She’s two,” Scott ground out. “And you’re going. You need to start being a team member again, Logan. I know your family is important to you but you’ve got responsibilities to us, too.”

“Laura takes priority.”

“What about your son?” the team leader demanded. “I thought he was a priority for you, too.”

Jean watched her boyfriend freeze for a second before slowly turning back to Scott. It was almost like Logan had suddenly become the mutant who could kill people with a look.

“Are you fuckin’ serious right now?” His voice was a snarling hiss of _give-me-a-fucking-excuse-to-murder-you._

“I was going to wait to tell you about this later, so I’m sorry that you got in your own way by being a jackass. _Again._ ” Scott shuffled through some of the papers in front of him and handed over two pages stapled together. “Read the highlighted section at the bottom.”

“‘Complaints included multiple sightings of a possible mutant. Witnesses say he appears of mixed-race origin and has jagged black knives that appear from his hands…’” Logan dropped the report onto the table and his wide-eyed gaze landed on Scott again. “How long were you gonna wait to bring this up, you piece’a shit?! You think I didn’t need to know or somethin’?!”

Jean tried to think how many years they’d been looking for Logan’s son and only came up with _too many._ She made a grab for his left wrist. “Come on, let’s take a quick break, okay?”

She sent a _*Let me handle this please.*_ to Scott as she led her boyfriend out of the briefing room with one hand and carried Laura against her shoulder with the other. Thank god she’d put her hair up with morning and it wasn’t easily grabbed by tiny fingers.

“He found him and he weren’t gonna even tell me,” Logan fumed, pacing along the hall for a moment before clenching his fists and letting his claws out. “I’mm a fuckin’ kill him this time!”

“No,” Jean countered, lazily pointing to his chest and pinning him against the opposite wall. “It’s not his fault. Try to focus on the positive side, okay?”

“What fuckin’ positive side? Ain’t it been five or six years or somethin’ we been lookin’, and it took ’til now to find him? My son’s part’a some fuckin’ _street gang_ in Brooklyn stickin’ up corner stores! _How is there a fuckin’ bright side?!_ ”

“Hey, stop, you’re not mad at me,” she pointed out. “The important thing is that we _have_ found him. So we can try to make contact and bring him here.”

“Yeah, maybe. But he’s still my kid. I bet he ain’t gonna wanna come with us if he’s been in a fuckin’ street gang too long…”

* * *

46.

 

Something was bothering his girlfriend.

It must’ve really been bad, because Jean was all the way down in the lab and Logan was in the gym feeding Laura applesauce while he waited for his hockey players. Two years ago they’d had fold-out barriers put into the walls so that the middle school-age kids could practice on one side and the high school-age kids could have the other, though with the new addition of that Bobby kid to the mansion Logan suspected that when the season started up again next school year they could probably just have an ice arena made for them.

Right now, of course, it was only May. Hockey season was over until the middle of October and his students were just keeping up practice so that they wouldn’t get rusty.

Logan’s mind wasn’t on any of this. Two days from now - Friday - he would be heading into the city with Forge to set up surveillance devices so that they could track down the contacts between the street gangs and the Marauders. His son was there, running with one of said gangs, and apparently he had been for years. The really shitty thing about it was that Logan finally got why they hadn’t found him until now; they’d always been checking Wyoming and surrounding states. The boy had been a short drive south of them the whole time.

On top of all of that, the back of Logan’s mind was buzzing with Jean’s internalized worries. Something about this whole mission coming up was getting under her skin, but he didn’t think she even knew why. It bothered her, so it bothered him. The only thing he could rationalize was that Jean had never been precognitive, it wasn’t part of her power set, so maybe she was just having a panic attack over nothing… she’d only had those back when she was pregnant with Laura, though.

His kids started filing in with their backpacks, all grinning and saying “hi” to him as they went to their lockers. A few of the girls also greeted his daughter like they always did.

Why couldn’t he just enjoy it?

Logan had been less than thrilled about the idea when it had essentially been dropped on his head, but at this point he didn’t mind coaching hockey at all. Some of the students on his teams were extremely competent to where they might be allowed to do it in college later on, and if Logan hadn’t been here as the instructor they probably wouldn’t have had that opportunity. The feeling was usually a pretty rewarding one even if he wouldn’t admit it, but Jean’s thoughts were seeping through his and he was getting more and more sold on the idea that something was about to go catastrophically wrong.

The troubled feeling seemed to be affecting his daughter, too, because Laura was making those distressed squeaks like she was about to start crying. She was sitting with her teddy bear and some of those plastic blocks in a safety area outside the dividers, fussing and waving her little hands. Logan took pity on her and scooped her to his chest, making sure her face was next to the base of his neck because it was a prime spot for scent. Normally, any level of upset behavior would stop the second he picked Laura up, even during times Jean couldn’t get her to calm down, but now it only helped a little. Small fists wrapped tightly into his sleeveless undershirt and in a very familiar gesture she nuzzled her nose against his skin.

Logan’s hands were shaking, but it wasn’t his muscles in spasm - Jean was freaking out down in medlab and it was pulling his strings across the mind link. That was what made him go over to the phone on the wall by the kids’ lockers and dial over the internal line.

“Medlab, this is Hank.”

“It’s just me.”

“I see. Hold on, I’ll get her.”

There was a crackle, then: “Logan? Is one of your players hurt?”

“No, baby, they’re fine… what’s buggin’ you down there?”

“What?”

“Look, you’re makin’ me freak the fuck out and me freakin’ the fuck out’s makin’ Laura freak the fuck out. So what’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t know,” Jean answered, her voice wavering slightly on the last word. “I just feel like something terrible’s about to happen. I know how important this mission is to you, so I can’t ask you not to go… but will you let me come with you?”

“What about Laura?”

“Maybe Kurt or Ororo can look after her for us until we get back.”

“It could take a few hours, though… she ain’t gonna fall asleep without one’a us there,” Logan pointed out. It hurt to try and convince her of this, because he completely understood the compulsion she was feeling. But he couldn’t just let their daughter be left by herself. “I ain’t tryna be a shit, baby. But I can’t have somebody else go lookin’ for my son and I can’t let Laura just be stuck here if both’a us are out on a mission. And… and you can’t ask me to pick between them.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, Logan. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to give you an ultimatum or anything. I’m just really worried about this for no god damn reason.”

“It’s okay, baby, don’t I always make it back to you?”

“Not always in one piece…”

“Yeah, but the pieces always grow back,” Logan chuckled. “It’s gonna be okay. You never had any precog-type shit before, don’t seem like somethin’ that’d just happen overnight.”

 

Down in medlab, Jean was starting to pace the way Logan did when he got agitated. She wondered if it was just a habit she’d appropriated from him or if it meant she was finally having a nervous breakdown.

“Would you like a valium?” Hank asked in total seriousness.

“No.” Jean shook her head and stopped pacing for a second only to start again. “I’d like for Friday’s mission to be over with so that I can stop worrying about it.”

“May I ask what your underlying issue is? Assuming you’re aware of it, of course.”

“It’s just…” She had to think for a second. “Have you ever seen those documentaries on tv about people when they’re caught in natural disasters? Sometimes they get a weird feeling right before everything goes wrong or they have the feeling a whole day before and things like that, or maybe they just notice something off. I can’t tell if that’s what’s happening to me right now or if it’s just nice, simple panic.”

“Well, can you describe this feeling?”

“Not really. I just really don’t want Logan to go. I think something’s going to go wrong for him.”

“He does have a healing factor. Unless the Marauders themselves are present, I highly doubt anyone he runs into will have the ability to do any real damage.”

“Yeah, but you know how this is going to turn out, right?” Jean questioned. “He’s being sent with Forge to put up surveillance devices. There’s no way in hell Logan will actually follow those orders. He’s going to be looking for his son the entire time instead of doing his job, and… Jesus, Hank, we don’t know anything about that boy except what we got from Transigen’s files. This isn’t rescuing someone familiar. He’s going to be chasing after a violent gang member who’s probably never even heard of him. I don’t see that ending well no matter what.”

“Are you sure? After all, Logan is widely known for his mellow personality and stellar communicative skills,” Hank joked.

Jean did get a good laugh out of that.

“Well, maybe his son will speak the same dialect of grunts and snarls.” She finally sat down at her desk and rested her forehead in her palms. “So he’s going to go on this mission… and if he does manage to catch up with his son, they’ll probably fight… and even if Logan convinces him to come here, he’s not going to be thrilled to meet me and Laura… and he’s been in a street gang for several years, so he’ll have extreme behavioral issues at the _least_ …”

“Perhaps you should try to focus on the present,” the other doctor suggested. “This mission isn’t going to take place until Friday. I guarantee you won’t come up with a way to fix a fifteen-year-old gang member in two days’ time.”

 

“Think louder right now,” Logan murmured, stroking his fingertips down her back. “You want me to wear the tags so you can identify my body after the mission?”

“Don’t joke about that,” Jean answered, not looking up from where her face was level with his sternum.

“Hey, I ain’t sure what else I can do,” he shrugged. “Nothin’ I say seems to be helpin’.”

“Logan…” Now, she did look at him, reaching up to play with his hair. “What if you just went with Forge, provided security, and then came back without looking for him? I don’t mean not _ever_ go back and look for him, but at least postpone it a few days and bring someone who can actually give you backup if things go south.”

“I’m gonna be near where he is.” Logan shook his head, but then bent his neck down to kiss the bridge of her nose. “You think I don’t get how it’s gonna go or somethin’? He ain’t gonna know me and he ain’t gonna wanna talk. I ain’t sayin’ it won’t be that way. Hell, he could come at me swingin’... but I gotta try. I already been waitin’ on this chance too long as it is.”

Her forehead rested against his collarbone and he curled the ends of her hair around his fingers. Logan wasn’t sure what was making Jean fly off the handle about this mission, but it was starting to get to him a little. He didn’t want to think that this was something other than a random panic attack, but those never lasted more than a couple hours at most.

On the other hand, given the circumstances, what could possibly justify him abandoning his son?

For the first time in years, curled together in a nest of bedding, neither one of them slept.

* * *

47.

 

_He didn’t feel like dealing with fucking Scalphunter today. He really, really didn’t._

_There was a tiny splinter of fear in there, that Scalphunter would realize Daken used to be the property of his asshole boss, because that just wouldn’t be fucking pleasant for anyone. But mostly, he was just pissed off on a grand scale by the guy._

_Thanks to fucking Scalphunter and the rest of the fucking Marauders, Daken had been stuck as errand-boy between them and the gang. It didn’t leave him any time to do the things he wanted, like finish reading all the shit he had on Wolverine. He’d stolen all these fucking papers like four years ago and still hadn’t fucking finished reading them all._

_One thing had been pretty cool, though - some type of metal. Some type of metal, with a name he couldn’t sound out, that could kill Wolverine._

_Daken wasn’t the only mutant in the gang, but he was the only one who was half-_ gaijin _. It didn’t used to bother them as much when he was smaller, but now he was like fifteen or sixteen or something and they suddenly had a fucking problem with it. His ears and his nose were too big, his face was too pointy instead of flat like the others’, his eyes were green-brown instead of black. It made a guy wonder how the fuck that actually happened, because no self-respecting Japanese man or woman would slum it with a fucking_ gaijin _as far as he knew._

_Daken still broke into schools all the time, except now he had kind of a harder time doing it because there was cameras and shit. But it was good practice. The asshole Marauders told him how to get to that school upstate, how to beat the security, how to break in, so long as he shared anything he took. Someday, he was going to break into that school again. But he’d be ready. Wolverine was at that fucking school. If only he could get some of that weird metal. That shit was probably real hard to find, though. It wouldn’t be fucking surprising if the price for getting his hands on some was Daken being made to blow all of the fucking Marauders or something._

 

In the end, neither of them had gotten their wish, because while Logan was getting ready to go find trouble in Brooklyn, Jean was stuck doing an emergency recon job with Mystique in northern California. They’d stumbled on the HQ of Essex Corp, purely by accident.

The thing was that Essex Corp was made up of mutants. It stood to reason, given that it was one of the most common forms of x-gene manifestation, that some of those mutants would be telepathic. Mystique wouldn’t be able to get away with this on her own, so Jean was also sent while Kurt had volunteered to baby-sit tomorrow when Logan and Forge went out.

Apparently, when the professor had accidentaly found this place with Cerebro, he’d also noticed that they were planning some type of malicious operation for the very near future. He hadn’t gotten more than that because he’d broken off the connection before they could potentially notice him, but it was a start.

 

 _Scalphunter wasn’t a_ gaijin _, but he sure as fuck wasn’t Japanese, either. Daken wasn’t sure what the hell he was. Okay, that wasn’t really true. Scalphunter was_ fucking annoying _. He seemed not to give a shit about fucking anything, he was just doing his fucking job, and Daken hated that. Why do a fucking job if you didn’t care? Anything Daken did, he cared about, whether it was stealing hip-hop CDs out of school lockers or sticking up rich-looking_ gaijins _for drug money._

_For once, though, Scalphunter was… weirdly helpful._

_He described something about the fucking X-Men, about how the Marauders had finally let those dumbasses think they knew some shit. Some fake meeting places that the X-Men were sure to show up at, maybe to try and watch or maybe to start shit with the gang or the Marauders. And Daken had just one job to do._

_One very easy-sounding job._

_When the fucking X-Men showed up, the only fucking thing Daken needed to do was come up to them and tell them he was a mutant, so that he could get into the school. The Marauders would hide a thing in his clothes to listen in on all the shit that went down once he was with the X-Men, and as soon as he was in, one of the Marauders would meet up with him in a few days and bring him a fuckton of that weird-ass fucking metal. Then the weird-ass fucking metal could be used on Wolverine._

_Simple._

_Daken knew he could do this, and it actually sounded kind of fun._

_Except it turned out not to be so fucking simple, after all._

 

Having not slept the night before, Logan did his damnedest to fall asleep this time, but no dice. So now he was going out way too early in the morning with Forge to go plant bugs in spots where the Marauders _might_ show up… he just wasn’t looking forward to this damn mission.

But his son might be there.

At least Forge was quiet while Logan drove. Even after four years, they didn’t really know each other that well. Most of the time Forge kept to himself in his electronic hidey-hole, building his weird gadgets, whereas Logan was all over the school, running gym classes and coaching hockey and doing danger room sims and of course spending every free second with Laura.

 

_Scalphunter only gave him a tiny bit of the metal, just to play with. Daken wasn’t supposed to get near it, really, because it might fuck him up somehow. Scalphunter also said it wasn’t enough to do damage to Wolverine so he’d better not try anything funny._

_Dumbass._

_Daken could figure out a way to hurt Wolverine with it; he wasn’t fucking stupid, after all. So, sure, he’d get into that school with the little listening-thing in his pocket, but fuck getting info for the fucking Marauders. As soon as he got there, he was going to go after Wolverine like he’d been trying to do for years._

 

Jean was exhausted by the time she’d snuck them into the building and gotten them access to the administrative section. It was a struggle not just to stay awake and not just to keep her powers at a reasonable level, but also to keep the minds of all the other psychic mutants docile - and they were _everywhere._ Nowhere near as powerful as she was, of course, but what they lacked in quality they made up for in quantity. It made her wonder about whoever the big bad boss was of this operation; he may have also been a telepathic mutant, using lesser psychics to do his bidding because they were more easily controlled and monitored.

 _I’m in,_ Mystique thought to her from the computer.

 _*Here.*_ Jean pulled out the floppy disks from one of her uniform pockets and handed them over. _*Nobody’s caught on yet as far as I know.*_

 _Good. Just give me ten minutes._ There was a long pause, but then: _Jean, come look at this right now._

It was a dossier of some kind.

**ESSEX CORPORATION**

**21 May 1998**

**Directive | Marauders (First Roster) Counterintelligence, Undesirable Material Cull, Object Recovery**

**{Subject [A] (** **_see notes_ )** **convinced of task to infiltrate. Anticipate attempt to double-cross, at which point he will be apprehended. Should Subject [B] (** **_see notes_ )** **also be present, we will allow Subject [A] to engage Subject [B]. Should Subject [A] successfully overpower Subject [B], this will be a most desirable outcome, as he can then be apprehended with minimal material expenditure. Should Subject [B] prove to be the stronger of the two, he must be stopped at all costs so that Subject [A] may be recovered for the continuation of laboratory projects.}**

**{Subject [B] may be accompanied by further extraneous characters known colloquially as “X-Men.” Should this be the case, they are to be ignored unless posing a threat to the recovery operation or the removal of unwanted material from the mutant gene pool. Whether by Subject [A] or Marauders (First Roster), Subject [B] must be removed. The passive trait known as the “healing factor” is possessed by Subject [A] and may be considered redundant. All other traits of the individual are irrelevant to research and also to be considered redundant - Subject [B] has been observed to possess markedly lower intelligence and forethought than Subject [A].}**

**Notes | Subject [A]**

  1. **Priority Type {Recovery}**
  2. **Original Designation {Test Subject 17}**
  3. **Known Aliases {Daken}**
  4. **Inherent Traits, Active {Retractable Claws (two sets of three)} {Pheromone Bioaerosol (see also: passive)}**
  5. **Inherent Traits, Passive {Regenerative/Restorative Biological Processes (alpha level)} {Enhanced Sensory Perception (equivalent approximate to** ** _canis lupus_** **specimens)} {Pheromone Bioaerosol (see also: active)}**
  6. **Observed Intelligence {High, Approximate IQ 120 pts.)}**



**Notes | Subject [B]**

  1. **Priority Type {Eliminate/Cull}**
  2. **Original Designation {James Howlett}**
  3. **Known Aliases {Jimmy, Logan, Weapon X, Wolverine}**
  4. **Observed Intelligence {Low-Average, Approximate IQ 98 pts. or lower)}**



“Oh my god,” Jean breathed. “We need to warn them.”

“We can’t use the phones here, we’ll have to leave and go to the nearest town,” Mystique pointed out even as she was ejecting the floppy disks and clearing the screen.

For a brief but strange moment, Jean felt insulted on behalf of her boyfriend - he was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for, even when he didn’t act like it. There was no _way_ his IQ was that low.

Then, a more sensible state of panic set in and Jean was getting them out of there as fast she could without getting spotted. They had to find a pay phone.

 

_Daken retracted his inner right claw most of the way - the little piece of metal was tied to the end with string as tight as he could get it, so it still stuck out a little. Weirdly, his knuckle was bleeding a little, but he guessed that meant the shit was working. He could fucking deal with a little trickle of blood between his fingers._

_With his favorite piece in the waistband of his track pants, Daken pulled down the sleeves of his shirt so the claw wouldn’t show and went out. The gang knew where he was going. Fucking Scalphunter had insisted on “borrowing” him for a little while. Fuck that guy. Daken wasn’t a_ thing _they could borrow from each other like cash._

 _He didn’t really plan on sticking around that fucking school after he finished up with Wolverine. Hell, Daken wasn’t sure he should even come back to the fucking gang. They didn’t fucking respect him any more than when he first got here, no matter how many runs he went on, how many_ gaijins _he robbed, how many spics he iced. He could fucking take care of himself, so maybe he fucking should after this._

 

Something was making Logan’s skin prickle, but every time he looked around or listened or scented the air, there was nothing. Maybe Jean had been right after all and he should’ve waited.

“How long’s this shit gonna take?” he growled, starting to feel like his claws needed to come out.

“It’ll go faster if I don’t have to stop and answer that question every five seconds,” Forge grunted dismissively.

They weren’t in their team uniforms in order not to draw attention to themselves, but since Forge was usually in a mechanic jumpsuit, he’d actually borrowed some of Logan’s clothes. It looked kind of stupid because Logan was noticeably taller than the other man. It also made him feel weird, because usually when he was snooping around some shithole at seven in the morning he was wrapped in black leather with Kevlar inserts, not torn jeans and a blue flannel.

For some stupid reason, even with nobody around except his teammate, Logan felt really vulnerable.

 

_This couldn’t be fucking real._

_Daken sniffed quietly, and still didn’t think this could be real - somebody was on the next street over, and they smelled almost exactly like he did. How the fuck was that even a thing?_

_Moving through the darker spots, he slowly put his claws out all the way on his right hand and grabbed his piece with his left. Something was really fucking wrong here._

_Looking, the guy’s back was to him, but the stupid-ass haircut gave him away._

_Wolverine._

_Fucking Wolverine was here._

_Wolverine was_ here!

_Hmm._

_Daken moved up until he was just a few yards away, then emptied all twelve rounds into the back of the_ gaijin _who’d caused him so much pain._

 

“Come on, come on, Scott…” Jean muttered as the ringer tone sounded in her ear.

“Xavier’s School for the Gifted, this is Ororo speaking. How may I help you this morning?”

“Ororo, it’s Jean, I need to talk to Scott or professor _right now,_ Logan’s in huge danger.”

“Alright, hang on.”

There was a crackle.

“Jean?”

“Scott, you need to go get Logan. We finished hacking Essex Corp’s computers a few minutes ago and they have plans to kill Logan and to kidnap his son again. You need to go get him _now,_ the Marauders are all carrying carbonadium weapons.”

“Okay, I’m on it.”

She was so, so grateful right then that they had a backup jet. Hopefully she just hadn’t been too late getting the information to Scott.

 

_Daken was really fucking pissed off as he ran, but some little part of him was scared as hell._

_That stupid metal must’ve done something to him, because he was only half-healed from all the giant fucking slashes he’d gotten when they should’ve been gone by now. The whole thing had happened so fucking fast, faster than any time he’d attacked a human, and he really should’ve known that would happen. How the fuck had this gone so fucking wrong?_

_He didn’t even have the metal anymore; after stabbing Wolverine clean through the eye, his claw got stuck and when he yanked it out the metal had come off the end. He was all out of bullets, too, so he hadn’t been able to ice that other geek who’d been there._

_Fuck, this hurt! Daken had never not healed before and it really fucking sucked. He liked this sweatshirt, too, and now it was fucking shredded and had fucking gore all fucking over it. Great._

_Two pairs of hands grabbed him and threw him down._

_“Good job, kid! Guess what, as a reward for doing exactly what we wanted you to do, you get to come with us, now!”_

_Oh, shit…_

_Blockbuster and Arclight. Daken was no fucking wimp, but either one of them was way fucking stronger than him even on a good day. And clearly today wasn’t going to be a good fucking day for him._

_“What’re you doing? Get the fuck off me!”_

_Blockbuster just fucking laughed at him._

_“Nice try, you little shit. You didn’t really think we forgot about you, right? Maybe you’re not as smart as Essex thought after all. Now. He wants you alive, but we can still do this the easy way… or the REAL easy way.”_

 

Thanks to the damn time zone difference, when Jean and Mystique finally got back to the school it was already afternoon. She ran all the way up from the basement and immediately got even more nervous than she already had been when Scott was waiting for her.

“Well? What happened, where’s Logan?”

“He’s… um, he’s in a civilian hospital,” her best friend answered. Something was off… way off. Scott never said “um.” “They need you to go see him… I can drive you.”

The whole situation was scaring her. An entire squad of hostile mutants with carbonadium at their disposal? No wonder Logan had ended up in a hospital, he’d probably been riddled with bullets and hacked to shreds. He would’ve needed immediate surgery just like last time.

“Will they let us bring him back here for treatment?”

“I don’t think so. It was… it was really bad, Jean. We got there as fast as we could and… you’ll see when we get there.”

Scott refused to tell her anything else for the entire drive, so once they’d finally made it she was shaking so hard it was a fight just to walk in the door. Even worse, there were police waiting, and even worse than _that_ was when they wouldn’t answer any of her questions. Instead, they just started leading her someplace.

The ride down in the elevator was tying Jean into knots. This couldn’t be right, they’d made some mistake…

“Aren’t we going the wrong way?” she tried to insist. “The patient rooms are upstairs…”

No.

No, absolutely not, they could not be taking her where it looked like they were taking her.

The sign on the door read MEDICAL EXAMINER’S OFFICE.

Jean tried to back up, but Scott had come in with her and was pushing her forward now, quietly telling her that this needed to happen, they needed to get it over with, they had to be sure.

Maybe it was a bad dream… she had bad dreams all the time. That could be it. She’d gotten home from Essex Corp and just passed out.

Scott was still holding Jean by her shoulders, and that was a very good thing - as the sheet was pulled down she wouldn’t have been able to stay standing on her own.

It must’ve been really bad, because all they showed was his head - there had to be other wounds that they weren’t letting her see. A gauze pad was taped over his left eye, maybe that was what had killed him because the only part of his skeleton that hadn’t been grafted was the very thin parts of his skull behind his eyes. Even so there was a bit of congealed blood visible under the little white sponge. The other eye had just been closed.

Everything looked… wrong, somehow. The big surgical lights were bleaching him, making his face the color of the sheet and his hair even blacker than normal.

“Um… he um… he doesn’t usually look like this, you should just use regular lights,” Jean mumbled to the ME.

What? Why had she said that? How did that make any god damn sense in context to the situation?

“But this is Logan? You can confirm his identity?”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s Logan,” Jean whimpered, and after that she was crying too hard to speak.

* * *

48.

 

_“...doesn’t make any sense, Frank.”_

_“What?”_

_“Look at this! It’s just… look at this! See, here, I’ll do it again so you can see… See? What the fuck, man!”_

_“Hey, didn’t the… uh, didn’t the guy say something about this? The one in the shades who came here with this guy’s girlfriend?”_

_“Yeah, but…”_

_“Yeah, something about, like, they’re mutants and he was supposed to heal…”_

_“Frank, c’mon, man, the guy’s been down here all night, there’s no way in hell…”_

 

“JEAN!”

She didn’t even bother wiping her eyes as Scott burst into her bedroom.

“Please just go away,” she hiccuped.

“No, I can’t, you need to watch this!” her friend shouted, making a grab for her tv remote and flipping frantically.

“...was stolen from the morgue last night. The medical examiner and the police have both refused to speculate, but we do know that it was the body of a mutant who was a recent victim of gang violence in Brooklyn. The investigation is pending-”

Scott turned it back off.

“That wasn’t a theft. Nobody who knows anything about this can call it a theft,” he insisted, gripping the remote so hard she was almost surprised the plastic didn’t start splintering into his hand. “There must’ve been some carbonadium left in him somewhere and they pulled it out.”

Jean shook her head and finally dried off her face on her sleeve.

“Scott… please, just go find him.”

 

He was pretty sure they were his things. It was the only stuff in that whole place that smelled like him instead of chemical death, so they must’ve been his things.

Were these tags his? They smelled like him, too, but some hazy thought occurred that army tags were supposed to have a first and a last name on them. These only had a last name - _LOGAN_ \- and a nickname - _WOLVERINE._ What a stupid fucking thing to put on your dog tags. Were these really supposed to be his?

The whole fucking place smelled like the dark corners of his nightmares, so he’d gotten the hell out as quickly and quietly as possible. For some reason, nobody even tried to stop him.

First things first: he was fucking starving. He checked his pants and found a wallet, which held a plastic charge card, a wad of 20s, and an obviously forged driver’s license that also read _LOGAN._ Who the hell was responsible for this hack-job? Whatever. He had cash, he could get food.

Ten orders of beef lo mein later and he was moving again. Wherever he was, it didn’t feel safe at all, so he needed to go. The roads here were fucking clogged, though, so for now he’d keep going on foot.

As he walked, he rolled the name around in his mind over and over - Logan. What the hell, it was as good a name as any, right? He caught himself in a window and stopped long enough to compare it to the picture, and they matched. Well, if his dog tags and his fake license both said that his name was Logan, then his name was probably Logan.

But there was another name torturing him in the back of his head.

_I need to get home to Laura._

 

The X-Men were frantic, and Jean was no exception. After Apocalypse, it took three years to find Logan. After finding out he was alive, it took four years to locate Daken. (Was that really the poor kid’s name? It sounded like the name of a demon in a bad fantasy novel or something.) They could not afford another three years to find her boyfriend again.

Laura was an absolute terror right now, on top of everything. Without her dad, she acted like she was dying - always doing that really loud scream-crying babies and toddlers did when they were scared or in pain, not really eating, definitely not sleeping normally. When it got too much to handle, Jean and Hank very guiltily put the smallest dose of the most mild pediatric-grade sedative into her food, and on the off-chance she actually ate any it did provide a couple hours of relief… for her as much as them, they reasoned.

It was five days since Logan had gotten up and walked out of the morgue; after one such success, still holding her exhausted daughter and trying to keep herself together, Jean was down in the lab with Hank when the phone rang.

“Medlab. Yes. Yes! Good! I’ll tell her.” He almost broke the phone hanging it up: “They caught up with him trying to get into Canada in a stolen truck. Scott and Kurt are bringing him back as we speak.”

The joy lasted until exactly the moment when Logan was brought in, because as Jean was about to run over and squeeze him, he tensed up like a spring and the claws came out. There was no recognition in his eyes as he looked around, he didn’t address anyone by name. He was still in the shredded jeans and flannel that he’d been killed in and his return could hardly have been more heartbreaking or disturbing than it already was.

“Who the fuck are you? Why’d you people grab me outta nowhere? The _fuck_ do you _want?!_ ”

“Logan, calm down, we’re your friends, you know all of us… hey, he got stabbed in the eye, do you think the brain trauma stuck?” Scott wondered, turning his head in Jean’s direction.

“Um… I don’t know, it could’ve, we… we never really found out what did this to him… the first time.”

She would not cry. Jean would not let this make her start crying again, she’d spent more than a week crying already. He was sniffing, though, which was a good sign even if the claws were still out. The mental connection was still vaguely there, but it was fuzzy and weak like an old phone line that needed to be replaced. All she detected from Logan was overwhelming confusion and the fear buried under it. He didn’t remember anything, anything at all, about living here for twelve years. Except…

Logan looked right at her, still glowering horribly: “Where’s Laura?”

That alone, even though it broke Jean again and there were tears rolling down despite her determination not to let them, gave her hope for him. He remembered their daughter, he could remember other things. It would probably help just to let him poke around and be near familiar smells and objects, like…

“Laura’s here,” Jean finally answered, working hard to keep her voice from shaking. “She’s just sleeping right now… do you want to come see her?”

Logan appeared startled by the offer, but nodded after a moment even though he _still_ wouldn’t retract the damn claws. Telepathically, she told her friends not to follow, and slowly led her amnesiac boyfriend upstairs. Laura was out cold in her crib, but on seeing her he immediately scooped her up in his arms. Even in her sleep she nuzzled him a little the way she always did.

“Good,” Logan whispered, smoothing down her fluffy dark hair with his palm. Touching her, smelling her, was calming him. Laura was the only thing he recognized. “Why’d you bring me here? Just to come get her?”

“No, Logan, we brought you here because this is where you live,” Jean whispered, shaking her head. “You… you got in a fight with your son and he stabbed you through the eye. It must’ve given you brain damage and that’s why you don’t remember anything. But that’s okay, we’re going to help you. We’ve been through this before… you even took some steps in case something like this happened to you again.”

“You sure?” He was giving her a look like _she_ was the one with cognitive issues.

“I’m sure. Here, come look at these…”

And then they were pawing through all his photo albums together, what seemed like twenty thousand plastic binders of Polaroids. Logan didn’t set Laura back down, actually he was almost clinging to her like he’d been washed out to sea and she was his life jacket, but still managed to sit down at the desk in order to flip through more easily. Logan touched some of the photos with his free hand, muttered about others. Some gave him nothing at all and he ignored them.

“Is it helping?” Jean asked after awhile.

“Kinda. I look and I get… little bits’a things. This’s… the fuck’s goin’ on in this one?”

Jean saw where he was pointing and smiled. “That’s from a few years ago, your hockey team dressed up like you for Halloween.”

“I have a hockey team?”

“Yeah, you… well, you did. I don’t know how you’ll manage to keep that up if you don’t remember who any of them are.”

Logan just grunted and started poking through again. He stopped when he reached the one that Hank had taken of the three of them about an hour and a half after Laura had been born - Jean was barely awake and red-eyed on the patient bed, where Logan was sitting half-on and half-off one side with Laura in his arms. The Polaroid had failed to capture this detail, but he’d actually spent quite a long time just looking at her and crying. At the time, he’d said that was when he’d figured out what “tears of joy” actually meant and that he’d never really gotten it before then.

“Jesus,” Logan whispered, stroking his fingertips along the photo through the plastic. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“I didn’t know if you’d believe me,” Jean admitted, resisting the urge to lean against him like she was used to. He didn’t recognize her anymore and it was incredibly painful. “You still don’t really know, do you?”

“It’s givin’ me a headache,” Logan muttered. “’Cause I’m lookin’ at all this thinkin’ I should know what these damn things are, but it’s all… fog. So… it’ll come back, right?”

“Maybe. I don’t know the extent of the trauma, so it’s hard to say,” she answered, not looking at him anymore. To meet his eyes right then was to be stabbed in the soul. “I hope it’s not all gone for you. You were doing so well before this happened.”

 

He was supposed to sleep here, apparently.

Logan wasn’t sure how he felt about that. This place smelled familiar, _felt_ familiar, but he couldn’t remember any specifics. Laura had a crib, but that sure as hell wasn’t happening right now. He was on his side with her slumbering at his chest, fingers in his shirt like if she let go something terrible would happen. He could relate to that feeling, though. He didn’t want to leave her for anything, ever.

The current setup seemed off to Logan. Even holding Laura like he was doing, this bed was way too big for just him. And that led to the thought: _Where’s Jean sleeping?_

Part of his brain didn’t know her, but other parts did. She felt safe and familiar, so maybe she was. All those damn Polaroids he’d been flipping through earlier and Jean was in almost every single one of them? It hurt to look at. Seeing the guy he _had_ been was painful, because that guy knew who he was and seemed pretty happy with his life. Logan wasn’t that guy anymore, though. Now he was confused by and afraid of things that he thought should be normal, the layout of this building or the faces of the adults.

Apparently, he had a son, too. Said son had stabbed him through the eye, which went into his brain and destroyed his life. So, offspring or not, Logan’s main goal now was to find the little shit and end him. His whole being had been uprooted, and it was like when a VCR ate a tape - the information was technically still there, but it couldn’t be used anymore. You could never watch that tape again, you could only buy a new copy or move on with your life. So Logan could either keep going through those photos and hope something got shaken loose, or he could give up on the entire fucking idea and let his existence keep being a warped shadow of what it had clearly used to be. Neither of those things sounded fun.

Eventually he just gave up on trying to fall asleep. In his sweatpants and the wife beater that Laura was clamped to with a death-grip, Logan wandered out of the room and began walking aimlessly. He passed by other people’s living spaces, and classrooms, and all kinds of other things that smelled familiar-but-not-familiar-enough. It was giving him a headache again, so he tried to stop thinking about it.

A room full of books and tables with chairs at them - library? Yeah, it was probably a library, or maybe a classroom. Logan decided to go with library.

A book was open on one of the tables, so he glanced at it - a black and white photograph with some text. There was a Huey with some army rangers jumping out, and the caption read something about the war in Vietnam. There was no god damn reason that a picture in a history textbook should be more familiar-looking than all his Polaroids, and Logan flipped back a few pages - the bombing of Nagasaki.

_That idiot was going to get himself killed even though he saved all those prisoners._

What?

 

Jean had figured that Logan would need some space for awhile until he got used to his surroundings, so she’d just borrowed one of the patient beds in medlab and completely failed to get any sleep.

Now, going up for breakfast, Logan was nowhere to be seen. That wouldn’t bother her so much if it also didn’t mean Laura wasn’t at breakfast, because she was sure to still be with him. Grabbing some coffee, Jean practically turned the mansion upside-down looking for them; even if he remembered what the danger room was, Logan wasn’t stupid enough to bring a toddler there with him, and he wasn’t outside anywhere or in the kitchen eating.

Eventually she found them in the library of all places - Laura was standing up in a chair so that she could reach her bowl of yogurt on the table, while Logan was engrossed in what looked like a student’s textbook.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“No.” He didn’t look up. “Laura slept. That’s the important thing.”

“Yeah, I guess it is… what are you reading?”

“History book. I know more about the shit in here than I do about any’a this…” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, probably to indicate the whole school and not just the room. “That tell you anythin’?”

“What do you mean? How far back do you remember from?”

“Uh…” Logan actually flipped to the very front of the textbook. “The American civil war. I ain’t even from here, how’s that make any god damn sense?”

“I don’t know,” Jean admitted, slowly approaching to look over his shoulder. “So what do you remember from then?”

“Gettin’ hit in the chest with a fuckin’ cannonball. Freaked my brother out somethin’ good, though. Had to dig the thing outta me so I could heal. My claws were just bones, then. The metal weren’t on them yet.”

“You have a brother? What’s his name?”

“Um… Victor. Half-brother, though. Same dad.”

“I see. That makes you over a century old, you know.”

“Huh. No shit.” Logan slowly closed the textbook and looked over at Laura, who was still happily getting yogurt all over her face. “Look, uh… I always suck with words before?”

Jean couldn’t help laughing a little bit at that. “Yeah, you’ve never been good with words, that hasn’t changed.”

“Okay. ’Cause… I been tryna figure this all out, but it just makes my head hurt. Feel like she’s only thing I really know. But… I don’t want it to be that way. So can you just tell me who I am? Who’s the guy I was lookin’ at in those pictures? How’d he get to be where he was? ’Cause he looks like he had his shit together, so I’d rather fuckin’ be that guy again than the one I am now. One I am now… I don’t know nothin’ and I don’t got much more’n nothin, neither.”

“It’s a really long story,” Jean sighed.

“What, don’t I got time for a ‘really long story?’ Seems like it could be a good idea.”

“Okay. So… fifteen years ago, we were in danger because of a mutant called Apocalypse…”

The retelling of a decade and a half of their lives took almost the entire day, to the point where they did actually have to break for lunch. By the time it was over, the clock was about to read “dinner time” and Laura was grabbing Logan’s leg trying desperately to get his attention after they’d been largely ignoring her all day. (She’d spent that time in the corner playing.)

“Dada up!”

“Okay,” he murmured, taking her in his arms. He kissed the side of her chubby face and she giggled. “Just gotta be quiet, okay? Me and your mom are talkin’ about important stuff right now.” Extreme hesitation made his movements slow as he looked back at Jean. “So… uh… how come we never got married?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I guess it never seemed important… besides, you never asked.”

Logan snorted. “Really? ’Cause you don’t seem like the kinda woman who’d just wait around for other people, so I think we should go with the whole ‘not seemin’ important’ thing. But… ain’t it important? We got a kid and everythin’.”

“Yes, _that’s_ the barometer of whether people should get married,” Jean laughed. “Not whether they see the need to.”

He smirked at that, and it was painful, because that was such a familiar expression on him even though his hazel eyes said he was still overwhelmed and drowning on the inside.

 

After everything he’d discovered and re-discovered about himself today, Logan figured the exhaustion alone would make him sleep, but it still wasn’t happening for him. Laura was out like a light in her crib, while he was on the side of his mattress that had the deeper indent from his absurd body weight. His eyes burned and his head pounded and he absolutely didn’t want to move, but still his mind was in such chaos that slumber wouldn’t find him.

Finally giving up like he had last night, instead of just poking around randomly, Logan resolved to find Jean this time. She knew him, she might be able to tell him how he could get to sleep. Her scent led down to the basement and then a space that screamed DANGER in the corner of his damaged brain. The place smelled like a nightmare… but there was nobody inside except her.

Her back was to him, but when he put his hand on her shoulder it only startled her instead of waking her up. Logan forgot what he’d been here to ask for. “Hey, uh, you should… go upstairs. It’s your bed, after all.”

“No, that’s okay, Logan.”

“How do you figure? Pretty obvious you ain’t sleepin’.”

“I didn’t want you to feel crowded.”

“I don’t,” Logan answered, frowning. Crowded? What the hell did that have to do with anything? “C’mon, this clearly ain’t workin’ for you.”

He managed to get her away from the patient bed and out of that horrible-smelling lab. Getting out of the elevator and heading for the stairs, he let an impulse put his arm across her shoulders, and in response she leaned against his side. Jean smelled like relief, now, not just exhaustion and sadness, and as soon as their heads hit the pillows they were asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, the Marauders were featured here. They will not be again except in mention. Everything I know about them comes from Wikipedia because I needed there to be some connective tissue in the story, and Sinister will also still not appear in this story except in mention. Sorry.
> 
> So the thing Logan does where he's got Laura sleeping on the bed with him? Don't ever, EVER do that. Even if your skeleton isn't metal-bonded, you still weigh enough that if you roll over onto your small child in your sleep you will crush or smother them to death. Children belong in their own bed. I don't even have any kids and I know that.
> 
> Also, it may seem like it, but Logan's brain getting re-damaged was not done for shock value. It is in fact a plot point. I don't do random shock value in my narratives and this is no exception.


	10. 2001.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I'm fucking going there.

49.

 

It was a big moment in time for everyone: Jean and Hank were all over the place these days perpetuating activism to stop the Mutant Registration Act, Laura was starting kindergarten, and Logan was finally teaching again.

There were still blank spots here and there in his brain, but after three years of hard (and exhausting and painful) work, he was more or less back where he’d been before his injury. The main difference, though, was that he wasn’t just coaching hockey and running gym classes - those were only part of his day for the 2001-2002 school year. He also now taught 10th and 12th grade history for two periods each morning. After having read two or three textbooks cover-to-cover, he simply knew how everything had happened (from largely a firsthand perspective, no less) and didn’t even really need a teaching plan. Those were going to be some damn lucky students, Jean couldn’t help but think.

“Y’know, when I’m doin’ gym, if they start actin’ like little shits I can just make them run laps. How the hell do I stop them from bein’ shits in a history class?” Logan groused over his mound of scrambled eggs.

“Can’t you just claw them?” Laura asked before a huge gulp of milk.

“No, Laura, I can’t just claw them,” he growled. “How’d you like it if I just clawed you every time you get loud durin’ a Rangers game I’m tryna watch?”

“I’d get mad and claw you back,” she answered, very matter-of-factly and clearly thinking that answer made perfect sense.

“No. You don’t claw people, either of you,” Jean rebuked, working very hard to keep the smile hidden that desperately wanted to get out. “Especially you, Laura. Other kids don’t have claws and they’ll just get hurt.”

“Okay, mommy.” She looked back at Logan. “You can’t claw people, too.”

“Oh yeah?” he snickered, grabbing her sides and tickling her.

Laura shrieked and tried to squirm away, ultimately falling out of her chair and cracking her head off the floor. Jean still had to stifle panic reflex at that, even though their daughter fell down all the time and it never fazed her.

“OW! Mooooommmm! Daddy hurted me again!”

“Logan, stop hurting Laura,” Jean teased.

“She made me do it,” her boyfriend grinned, lifting Laura back into her chair with one hand before resuming his breakfast. “So, hey, when they start actin’ like shits, how do I punish them?”

“Well, lucky for you, the assistant principal isn’t as vindictive as you are, so he probably won’t reward them for making your life hard.”

This was actually true - Scott was extremely intolerant of poor behavior from the students, even Logan’s. Usually, though, he managed to be fair about it.

“Ugh… sendin’ them to get lectured by Slim? I said ‘punish,’ not ‘send straight to the ugliest circle’a Hell.’”

“Well, don’t make them write lines, it’s just a waste of your time and theirs.”

 

There were only two other kindergartners when Logan walked Laura to her classroom, but that wasn’t surprising. Most kids didn’t manifest until puberty.

“Okay. Now remember, this’s only for the mornin’, right? So after lunch you go down to the basement where mommy is,” he reminded her, crouched with his hands on her shoulders.

“I know, daddy,” she nodded, hugging his neck. “And I won’t claw people.”

“And you won’t claw people,” he repeated with a nod. “Clawin’ people means we’re gonna hafta punish you, and we don’t like doin’ that.”

“Yes you do!” Laura whined, letting go of him.

“No, darlin’, we really don’t, but sometimes you do bad things like claw people and that ain’t okay.” He kissed her forehead. “Alright. Just don’t claw nobody and there won’t be a problem. Have fun, okay?”

“Okay!”

Laura ran over to where Bryce and Tina were fighting over some toy or other, purely for the opportunity to _join_ the fight. He had to leave the room before he started laughing because it would send the wrong message, but sometimes it really did seem like Jean was right when she said the only thing Laura had gotten from her was eye color.

Chuckling to himself, Logan made his way to a different classroom that would now be his. Aside from papers and books and pens and shit, Logan had a drawer in his new desk that had his sweats and his running shoes in it so that he could just throw them on after his first two classes. There was no way in hell he’d lead six periods of gym in jeans and combat boots.

His first class was the 12th grade one, and Logan was a little relieved that two of the students were Piotr and Marie. Piotr had been a victim of the Russian mafia’s mutant-trafficking operation, while Marie had been on the run for awhile after manifesting her powers; as such, they were both a grade behind. They were generally intelligent kids, though, who didn’t tend to cause problems.

And then in walked John Allerdyce, also a grade behind, but in his case it was because he’d flunked pretty much all his subjects in 10th grade. Logan wasn’t looking forward to having him around at all. Aside from intentionally trying to burn down his school after he’d discovered his powers (and before Xavier had found him), John was a headstrong little shit who fought with everyone just for the hell of it.

Logan glared as soon as he came into the room: “You. Up here. Now.” He took a quick sniff, then snatched John’s backpack, rifled through it, and pulled out a brand-new pack of those cheap Bic lighters... and then a 500-count box of kitchen matches. “Pockets.” Two more lighters. “Nice try, kid. Don’t think I won’t keep checkin’ every mornin’, neither. So you may as well knock it the fuck off right now.”

The other seven kids all trickled in, and except for John Logan just let them sit where they wanted. He distributed the textbooks, feeling sorry for the fact they had to carry them around with them everywhere, and then sat on top of his desk with his hands folded between his knees.

“Alright, look, we ain’t gonna be doin’ too much with those damn things most’a the time, so if you ever gotta actually bring them to class I’ll just tell you the day before, okay?” Looking at them, it occurred to him why exactly he’d been given this group of students. “All’a you been held back a grade?”

There were embarrassed murmurs of “yes” all throughout.

“Right…” Logan nodded to himself. “Here’s the thing. Far as I know, I never even _went_ to fuckin’ school, so all’a you got me beat right off the bat, okay?” That got some laughs, which had been the idea. “Besides, pretty sure it ain’t your fault most’a you got held back a grade. So don’t beat yourselves up about it. All you really gotta do is not piss me off and things’ll go pretty well, alright?”

It went uneventfully from there. He told them what would happen for the year, which particular war they’d be starting with in the class, and then ended up giving them the story about being shot with a cannonball in a field somewhere.

“...so then my brother had to yank the thing out, and he weren’t too happy about that, but it all worked out in the end I guess. Still here, after all.” They snickered and Logan was about to say something else when the bell rang. “Alright. Get the hell outta here, it’s only the first day so I’ll go easy on all’a you, no homework and you won’t need the damn books tomorrow. Pyro, sit your ass back down.” He only had a couple minutes, but the other nine students were all gone within seconds. Logan didn’t even have to show a single claw. “You come in here with any’a this shit again, and we’re gonna have problems, you understand?” A wide-eyed, silent nod. “Good. Get the fuck outta my classroom.”

None of the 10th graders were anyone Logan was especially familiar with, but they all seemed like decent kids and this was the class he’d been given leave to do more “projects” with. So, he had them all write down what their powers were, put them into a pile, and then when he read each paper the kids all had to guess who it was. He’d done this exercise with his hockey players many times and it was always to good effect.

Then third period came, and in the middle of supervising the kids out in the field playing a game of kickball, Kurt randomly appeared right next to Logan and almost got himself stabbed.

“I’m very sorry, Logan, but they are looking for you inside,” the teleporter offered.

“Why, what the hell does Slim want now?”

“No, Scott is not involved… at least, not yet. You must go talk with your daughter, please. I can watch your class until you get back if you like.”

“Fine. Whatever.” God dammit, he just _knew_ Laura had clawed someone like she’d been told not to. She was terrible with rules sometimes and had definitely inherited his severe anger management problems. Arriving at the classroom, though, there was no smell of blood and the teacher was standing there with her and Bryce. Both kids looked pissed about something. “Alright, what the hell’s this?”

“He pulled my hair!” Laura howled.

“She stole the thing I wanted and wouldn’t give it back!” Bryce shouted back.

“Alright, ENOUGH!” Logan bellowed, silencing them. “What the fuck am I doin’ here when I’m s’posed to be teachin’? Laura, what’d you do?”

“He pulled my hair, so I hit him!” she announced, seeming extremely pleased with herself about it.

“And you?” he demanded, glaring at the boy.

“I was gonna use the blocks and she got them first even though I wanted them!” Bryce whined.

“Well, that’s just tough shit, ain’t it, kid? Don’t mean you gotta give her a yank. Laura, what’d I fuckin’ tell you about attackin’ people?”

“Nothing,” she answered. “You said don’t _claw_ people, daddy. And I didn’t claw him, I hit him instead!”

“That ain’t okay, neither!” Logan growled, frustrated. “Alright, look, I hafta come back here and we’re gonna get your mom involved, you want that?”

Laura immediately shrank and stopped looking proud of herself. “No.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You can’t hit nobody, you can’t claw nobody, and if I get brought here again ’cause you can’t play nice you ain’t gonna like what happens.” He glared at Bryce. “Don’t pull other kids’ hair.” Then, he looked to the teacher: “We done here? I gotta gym class I’m s’posed to be runnin’ right now.”

“Yes, please, go back to your class.”

Logan gave Laura a final disapproving scowl before leaving. Apparently, they should’ve been more specific with her about going after other kids, because “clawing” and “hitting” were different means of attack. She’d thought she could get away with it if she’d gone with the one not involving claws, because they’d only said claws.

 _When does this get easier?_ he couldn’t help wondering as he made his way back outside.

 

“So, how was your day?” Logan asked as Jean sat across from him at the cafeteria table.

“Probably better than yours if I know that look,” she commented. “What happened?”

“Well, I got that fuckin’ Pyro kid in my first class’a the mornin’, and then I got dragged outta my _third_ class in the middle’a somethin’ ’cause apparently _hittin’_ other kids is okay so long as she don’t actually _claw_ them.”

“Oh, god,” Jean groaned. “She didn’t.”

“Yeah, she fuckin’ did. It’s all about the loopholes, I guess. So we gotta figure out what the other ones are’n plug them before Laura gets too many more’a these bright ideas.”

Their daughter came scampering over with her own food right then.

“Hi, daddy.”

“Hey, darlin’. How about you tell your mom what you did today?”

“I played with blocks and Playdough!”

“No, not that, tell her about the other thing you did.”

“I colored with crayons!”

“ _Laura._ ”

“What?”

“Tell your mom what you did,” Logan growled.

“Bryce pulled my hair so I hit him. But I didn’t claw him like you said.”

“That’s still not okay,” Jean answered. “Laura, hey, look at me. You can’t hit other people, either. You can’t hit them, and you can’t claw them. You can’t pinch them or push them over or bite them.”

“But daddy pinches me and tickles me and stuff all the time!” she whined, as if that made it okay for her to intentionally hurt other children.

Jean sighed and Logan pinched between his eyes.

“Laura, when you and daddy are playing and wrestling, that’s okay because you both don’t get hurt, okay?” Jean tried to explain. “But other kids _do_ get hurt. You could hurt them very badly if you’re not careful. So you can’t play games with them the way you play games with daddy. Do you understand?”

“But the way they play isn’t fun!”

“Yeah, look, that don’t matter,” Logan broke in. “Not everythin’ in life’s gonna be fun all the time. You can’t _never_ hurt other kids for the hell’a it, and that’s all there is to it. No hittin’ them, or clawin’ them, bitin’, pinchin’, ticklin’, wrestlin’, none’a that’s okay. You just can’t do it.”

“But _why?_ ” Laura demanded.

“’Cause you’ll hurt people, and ’cause I said so,” Logan snarled.

Apparently that was the wrong answer because the five-year-old gave an angry shriek and slapped her dinner tray off the side of the table. She was about to get up and storm off, but Logan grabbed her and forced her to sit back down in the chair.

“Good job, kid, you just gave up your dinner,” he informed her. “Now you don’t eat ’til breakfast.”

 _When did she get to be such an unreasonable little shit?_ Logan thought.

 _*You ask me that like she hasn’t_ always _been one, and like it isn’t obvious where she got it from,*_ Jean chuckled.

 _I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,_ he joked, maintaining a death grip on Laura’s shoulder while they ate.

After dinner, Logan frog-marched their daughter upstairs, and by the time they reached the last hallway she was actively fighting his hold of her. Logan turned her around so that they were facing and pointed to himself: “This is me not bein’ impressed with you right now, you understand?”

Laura just snarled the way he normally did, then yanked her arm free, ran into her room within the suite and slammed the door behind her. It wouldn’t do her any good, though. All her books and toys were in the living room exactly for this reason; her attitude had been atrocious lately, so this way they could keep her from entertaining herself in her bedroom and negating the punishments for her constant misbehavior.

 _How long ’til this fuckin’ stops?_ Logan wondered. Even his mental voice was fed up with Laura’s crap.

_*Who knows. Allegedly it’s going to be even worse when she hits twelve or thirteen…*_

_Fan-fuckin’-tastic._

* * *

50.

 

“Good, we’re all here. Let’s begin.” Scott passed around the briefing packets. “S.H.I.E.L.D. finally has Essex Corp pinned for the last time, which is why we’re having this meeting now. On Tuesday we’re going to help Colonel Fury bring the hammer down on them for good. So, in light of that, anyone in a teaching position will only have classes before lunch tomorrow. The afternoon is going to be strictly dedicated to pre-mission prep work. Fury actually said they’ve managed to detain or eliminate at least a squad and a half of the Marauders, so that’s that much less resistance we can expect on this mission.”

“Will we be required to gather intelligence at this location, or is this strictly an operation to disable them?” Hank wondered.

“Strictly disable,” Scott replied. “S.H.I.E.L.D. already has full copies of all their data, and once Essex Corp has been taken down we won’t really need it anyway. Their entire objective was the ‘cleansing’ of the gene-pool so that only mutants they deemed superior would be left. Does that really sound like something we’d need specifics on?”

“Certainly not,” Hank agreed, shifting uncomfortably.

“So why’s this gotta interrupt my god damn teachin’ schedule?” Logan demanded, cracking his knuckles and then his neck irritably.

“Because that’s what Colonel Fury said,” the team leader answered. “We need to suit up after lunch tomorrow so that we can meet up with his team and get briefed. From what I understand, this is going to be a major assault on a hardened facility, so we might not be back here until Wednesday afternoon if things go too far south.”

“Well, shouldn’t at least a couple’a us stay here and hold down the fort? Someone could attack or somethin’.”

“Logan, you’re going and that’s all there is to it. Fury’s giving us six squads of his troops to guard the school while we’re out in New Mexico.”

“Oh, well, I feel safer already,” he snarked. “Thought I made it clear how I feel about those fuck-sticks. I sure as hell don’t trust them with my students if I can’t even trust them to be around _me_ without tryna pull somethin’.”

“Well, luckily for you, it’s not your decision to make,” Scott answered flatly. “After we get done with Essex Corp, we need to do some more work on opposing the Mutant Registration Act. Jean, Hank, Mystique, you’ll be meeting with me and the professor about the issue on Wednesday after the regular team briefing.”

“Great, we’ve got this one and then another one to suffer through in a couple days,” Warren muttered, and for once Logan was inclined to agree with the winged bastard.

 _*Be nice,*_ Jean rebuked silently.

 _You have_ met _me, right?_ Logan thought back.

_*Hey, I met you before you met me. That’s no excuse to be mean to my friends.*_

_I didn’t even say nothin’._

Logan didn’t pay any attention to the rest of the briefing. That wasn’t unusual, though. He was much more interested in replaying Friday’s incident over in his head. The lecture they’d given Laura about two weeks ago had worked, until she’d realized that “throwing things” had not been included in the list. That had been a very long afternoon, and now Jean and Hank were trying to talk Logan into bringing in some outside help - they were starting to think Laura needed to talk with a child psychologist. None of the other kids, even bigger and older ones, would get near her.

Mulling over the issue, Logan almost didn’t hear Scott dismissing them. And then, as he was getting up to leave: “Logan, can we talk for a second?”

“For fuck’s sake, Slim, how many times are you gonna yell at me for zonin’ out? You want me to pay attention, you can… actually there’s nothin’ you can do. Sorry.”

“What were you thinking about that was more important than the safety of an upcoming operation against Essex Corp?”

“Well, for one, no operation against those bastards’s gonna be safe, bub. For another, I _always_ got more important shit to worry over than whatever you’re yammerin’ on about.”

“That’s great, Logan, really, but you didn’t answer my question. What was so distracting for you?”

“Not your problem.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Laura’s been acting out a lot lately, Hank and I think she should see a child psychologist and Logan’s trying to come up with something else.”

“Oh god, _really?_ ” Scott groaned, shaking his head at both of them for once. “Just have Charles talk to her!”

Logan and Jean shared a look: _Why couldn’t we think of that?_

This meant that now, as well as abandoning his classes tomorrow after lunch, Logan was pulled from them all afternoon today, too. He was supposed just to sit quietly in the corner with Jean while Laura and Charles hashed things out.

“Hello, Laura.”

“Hi, Chuck!”

 _*Great job,*_ Jean thought to him sarcastically.

 _What? It weren’t me,_ he laughed.

“Do you know why you’re here right now?”

“Am I getting in trouble again?”

Charles smiled. “No, you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to talk with you for a little while, if that’s alright.”

“Okay,” Laura nodded.

“Why did you throw a toy at one of your friends on Friday, do you remember?”

“Tina’s not my friend,” she huffed. “She’s mean to me.”

“What does she do that makes you angry with her, Laura?”

“One time she said I’m not s’posed to be here. Um, at all. Because my mommy isn’t married to my daddy, and that’s a sin.”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“Logan, please, calm yourself.” Charles returned his eyes to Laura as Logan sat back down. “Is that why you threw toys at her?”

“Yeah. She says mean things.”

“I see. Why didn’t you talk about it with Mrs. Greene?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know, Laura, I don’t think Tina knows that she’s being hurtful by saying those things to you. She was told to think that way by other people before she came here. Do you understand?”

“Kinda,” Laura shrugged. “But she says mean things about my mommy and daddy, and that makes me mad. But mommy said don’t claw people.”

“Yes, clawing people isn’t a very nice thing to do.”

“But daddy does it all the time!” Laura whined. “He always goes out and claws people, and then when he gets home mommy doesn’t yell at _him_ for doing it!”

 _*Please, Logan, let me handle this,*_ the professor insisted. “Laura, when your father goes out on missions with the X-Men, he does it to stop people from hurting other people. He knows _how_ to use his claws in a way that protects others. Someday, you’ll be old enough to learn the best way to use your claws, just like your father. And then _you_ can go out on missions and protect people. But for right now, I would very much like for you to just have fun in kindergarten. We will talk to Tina and ask her not to say those things anymore.”

“When I throw things, my daddy gets mad and punishes me. But Tina’s mean to me and doesn’t get in trouble! Can you make my daddy punish her instead?”

Charles laughed.

“I’m sure he would very much like to do that himself, but there are other things we can do to help you get along better with Tina.”

“But she’s mean!”

“Yes, I understand.” Logan had to give the guy credit for not being condescending by saying that. “Just so you know, Laura, Tina is wrong when she says those things. Your mother and father love each other very much, and they love you very much, too.”

“Even when I get punished?”

“Even when you get punished,” the telepath nodded. “You see, Laura, when you hurt others, they punish you because they’re trying to teach you not to hurt other children. But I think, had your father sat down and _talked_ with you about it-” Blue eyes shifted to Logan for a second, but not without some humor. “-then they wouldn’t have punished you as much.”

“No, they like punishing me,” Laura sulked. “That’s why they do it all the time.”

“I promise, they don’t like to punish you. And I think they may be doing it somewhat less after our talk today. But you also need to understand that hurting other children isn’t going to help. So, if Tina says something you don’t like, what do you think you should do instead of throwing toys?”

“Yell?” she guessed. “My daddy yells at people a lot, too.”

“I think I’m beginning to see the overlying issue, here,” Charles pretended to speculate, looking like he didn’t know whether to laugh or to chew Logan out right then. Logan wasn’t interested in getting chewed out in front of his daughter. “I hope this isn’t too surprising for you, but the way you father does things is usually the wrong one. Does your mother try to stop your father from doing things that way?”

“Yeah, mommy doesn’t like it when daddy yells at the tv and tries to claw Scott.”

“Well, your mother is correct. Perhaps you and your father both need to unlearn some things.”

“Hey, this about my bad behavior or hers?” Logan snapped.

“They seem to be intertwined, so I’ll have to say both,” the professor answered calmly.

* * *

51.

 

“Colonel Fury’s having us to the heavy-hitting,” Scott informed them as Mystique and Hank were flying up front. “He said it’s because he knows we’ve had issues with these guys in the past and this way we can settle our grudges, but he’s not up to something as much as I can look at people with my glasses off without killing them. There’s twelve of us and five floors, so we’ll go in teams of two and one team will stay here with the jet. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are going to encircle the compound for us and make sure nobody can escape, and yes, that sounds exactly as suspicious to me as it does to you.”

“But we’re trusting these guys to protect the school?” Bobby frowned.

“Before we left, we made sure their helmets aren’t dampened. The professor will stop them if they try anything.”

Jean frowned, but said nothing. The entire setup for this mission confused her, and if they didn’t trust Fury, why were they going along with this? Still, what Scott sometimes lacked in social skills he made up for by being a brilliant tactician, so she trusted that he knew what he was doing like always.

“Alright. Storm, Angel, I want you to take turns circling from above and guarding the jet. If S.H.I.E.L.D. starts trying to pull the wool over our eyes, you’ll probably be the first to know about it. The first two teams will go in together. Colossus, Forge, Beast, and I will subjugate any resistance on the ground floor. Forge, you and Beast stay on the first floor afterwards and disable any type of electronic security or communications they have. At that point Mystique, Iceman, you two will enter the building and proceed with us to the second floor. Once the four of us have cleared that section, you two will stay there and maintain your position. Quicksilver and Nightcrawler will pacify the third floor with me and Colossus. Once that happens, you two will go with Phoenix and Wolverine to the fourth floor. By that point, I’m anticipating them being desperate and throwing everything they have left at us, so Quicksilver and Nightcrawler will stay on the fourth floor. Wolverine, Phoenix, I’m sure it won’t take you too long to bulldoze your way through whatever Marauders and other opposition are left by then, and once the building has been secured we can worry about reacting to whatever Fury’s hidden agenda is.”

“Okay, why the fuck’re we workin’ with these assholes if we know they’re just gonna fuck us over?” Logan demanded.

“Because Essex Corp is still a bigger threat right now,” Scott answered dismissively. “Once they’re gone, whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. is up to moves to first priority.”

“But we know they’re gonna fuckin’ try somethin’, so how come we don’t just stop them now?”

“Because we don’t even know what it is yet.” Scott was grinding his teeth at Jean’s boyfriend. “When Xavier puts you in charge, Wolverine, you can slice and dice people as you see fit until someone with more sense finally stops you. But I’m still in charge, I’ve been in charge for seventeen years, and we’re doing things my way. How do you not understand that by now?”

“Save the dick-measuring contest for later, please,” Mystique yelled back from the cockpit.

After they’d landed, Jean gave Logan two protein bars to eat while Scott and Fury hashed out a few things - it would keep him quiet and also offset all the calories he’d lost throwing up during the first few minutes of the flight.

“Remember, everyone: we’re doing this in stacks. Once you’re in place and the next ‘stack’ has moved, maintain radio silence unless you need backup. We need the comms clear so that the active ‘stack’ can communicate with itself. This isn’t a small building and we may get outside of speaking distance.”

 _*Their helmets are dampened,*_ Jean informed Scott.

_I figured they would be. There’s a hundred of them and twelve of us, they probably think they can take us._

_*That won’t end well for them,*_ she speculated. _*Even Logan by himself can clean them out, and they don’t have carbonadium bullets.*_

 _That’s… odd,_ Scott decided. _They’re here to do something shady, they took measures to protect their thoughts from your powers, but didn’t bring ammunition that can stop arguably our most destructive team member? What’s the run-down on the rest of their gear?_

_*Let’s see… medium-grade Kevlar armor, which won’t protect them against Logan’s claws or Warren’s feathers. No tranqs if they wanted to bring down Hank. Really, aside from the helmets, they’re geared up expecting Essex Corp’s Marauders and that seems to be it. If they’re here to go after us, too, they’re doing it wrong.*_

Even without being telepathic, Jean could all but hear the literal grinding of the gears that turned in Scott’s head. He was working and planning, unravelling whatever Colonel Fury had planned for them. Or at least he was doing his damnedest; nothing was adding up about this at all, not even to the leader of the X-Men.

 

When it was their turn, Logan had to climb the staircase last - that way Jean could take care of whatever those bullets were that could hurt him. Apparently that was a thing, because they’d said a certain type of metal had been responsible for him “dying” and becoming amnesiac three years back. He didn’t know what the hell they were actually talking about, but if there was a type of metal that could hurt him, he didn’t mind Jean taking care of it for him. She was so insanely powerful, but he loved that; Logan thought it was sexy that she could kick his ass without even trying.

 _*Not the time or the place, Logan,*_ she laughed in his mind.

 _Hey, soon as they’re done shootin’, any time or place could be the right one far as I’m concerned,_ he answered.

The whole floor was labs and science rooms, if the smell was anything to go by. The workers were scrambling away, trying to head up even though there was only so much more “up” that they had. Logan cut them down the same as he would any other enemy - there were no innocents here.

When he wasn’t busy disemboweling scientists in green plastic suits, Logan went through each lab room and ransacked it, smashing and cutting his way through every computer or important-looking piece of machinery. They didn’t need intelligence? Then this shit had to go so that nobody could pick up where these assholes left off.

Kurt seemed to be mainly a distraction, providing a bright blue target for three Marauders to chase and ultimately landing them on the pointy parts of Logan’s hands. One of them managed to slash open his arm before dying, though, and the blade must’ve been that funny good-for-killing-Wolverine shit because the muscle was laid open to the shiny metal bone and clearly not sealing back up.

“GAH! Fuck!” Logan howled, having to wrench his left claws free of the body by yanking his wrist with his right hand. He couldn’t move his entire arm and blood was pouring out.

“What happened?” Jean asked, appearing from somewhere.

“Got me pretty good before I got him,” Logan ground out, palm clamped to the wound.

“Here, let me see.” She prized back the leather. “Oh my god, you need to go get some help for this.”

“What? Why?”

“This won’t heal for several days at least, come on, go, before you lose too much blood and we have to carry you out. I’ll let Cyclops know what happened, just get yourself down to where Beast is.”

Not wanting her to worry, he reluctantly did as he was told and removed himself. Down on the first floor, anybody without his enhanced hearing wouldn’t have been able to pick up the sounds of combat still raging above.

“Dear lord, what did they strike you with?” the other feral questioned.

“Some kind’a knife.”

“I see.” Hank pulled a first aid kit out of… someplace nearby. “Please be warned, Logan, this _will_ hurt quite a lot.”

“I been through wor-GAAAAAHHH! The fuck was that, furball?! You burnin’ me?!”

“I already said it would hurt, didn’t I? Please try to hold still, Logan. We need the stitches to stay in place until your healing factor can take care of things on its own.”

Logan couldn’t help watching as Hank sewed a major blood vessel together that had been torn almost completely off from itself, then began stitching the muscle tissue back into a cohesive whole. It was excruciating, but he did his best not to move like the other feral had said, and it was very strange to look at - this was the opposite of what he did for a living.

And because of one careless blow, Logan was annoyed to be told he had to sit it out for the rest of the fight.

It was stressful, holding still and not healing and unable to participate. He could hear everything going on, if a little faintly, and not being allowed to join in made him crazy. He should’ve been up on the fifth floor with Jean, ending these people’s pathetic excuses for lives. Instead he was sat in a chair, jacket pulled off on the left side so that Hank could wrap his arm in gauze before confining the damaged limb to a sling.

“This really necessary?”

“Well, if you wish to avoid further pain, yes, it is.”

Logan growled, but didn’t say anything else and instead glared at his arm like doing so would make his healing factor kick in again. It was more irritating that he was inert, not pulling his weight against these fuckers even though they’d caused a lot of problems in his life - this fact bothered him much more than the pain of the wound.

The noises were already getting fewer and farther between, slowly dying out four floors above his head. He knew Jean probably wasn’t killing them like he would’ve, which meant S.H.I.E.L.D. would arrest any incapacitated enemies and lock them up in some hole underground for the rest of their lives. Unless Scott was right and this was just a clever distraction before the navy blue-armored soldiers decided to attack the X-Men. That would be the last fucking thing they ever did if Logan had something to say about it; healing factor disabled notwithstanding, he wasn’t up for getting stabbed in the back right now.

Kurt appeared briefly to hand over a folder to Hank, which was strange because Scott had insisted they weren’t gathering intel on this mission. The teleporter said absolutely nothing, only glancing at Logan for a couple of seconds before disappearing again. Hank frowned at them for several minutes until, of course, walking back over.

“What now? Don’t tell me they’re responsible for killin’ my pet dog as a kid and that’s why I have nightmares or some shit,” Logan groaned.

“No, this was much more recent than your childhood… though I’m sure that’s not saying much. Do you have a brother?”

“Uh… half-brother, but yeah. Victor. Don’t remember him all that much, and I haven’t seen him in prob’ly decades.”

“You might be surprised.” Hank pulled over a second chair for himself. “Victor Creed?”

“Sounds right.”

“Yes, well, that’s Sabertooth’s name, and he was apprehended and killed by the Marauders two months ago according to this autopsy report. It was part of their eugenics program, of course. Mutants like Sabertooth, like you, like me… they weren’t keen on us perpetuating our genes. They removed him as an obstacle and in order to ensure their work stayed permanent they inserted carbonadium rods all throughout the body and entombed him in a box of the same alloy.”

“Well, good fuckin’ riddance… I was fuckin’ related to that guy? Ugh,” Logan groaned, shaking his head.

“Yes, well, you’ll be less pleased with the other one in this file. Apparently after they’d finished with their experiments on your son, he was also… eliminated from the gene pool. He couldn’t be controlled and that was apparently undesirable for Mr. Nathaniel Essex. Of course, given the nature of his mutation, I question why they would want your son to begin with.”

“And again, good riddance,” he grunted indifferently. “Before you say anythin’, furball, I don’t fuckin’ remember the kid except that he hurt me bad enough to almost ruin my life. He could’a took me away from Jean, and from Laura, and from all’a my students. I was plannin’ on offin’ him myself once I got my claws on him. Maybe that sounds like a shit thing to say, but nobody fucks up my life that bad and fuckin’ gets away with it.”

“Er, yes, I see,” Hank mumbled, clearly shocked to have heard that. “Well, at least you know.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

So dismissed, Hank got back up and made his way to the other end of the room. Logan didn’t care if what he’d said had horrified his teammate, because every word of it had been true. That kid - Jean said he’d named himself “Daken” during his time in the street gang - had royally fucked up Logan’s life for longer than was tolerable. Just half a year ago, Logan had stopped having nightmares at least once a week about Laura getting snatched from him.

Every time he had one of those, he’d gotten out of bed and gone into her room to make sure she was still there, which usually woke her up. But then she’d always stood up on her bed so she could reach, hugged Logan around the neck, and said she was okay and that it was safe for him to go to sleep. Which led him right back to her beating kids up in kindergarten; how had they gotten from there to here?

 

As soon as the last Marauder had been neutralized or apprehended, the S.H.I.E.L.D. task force up and left. Jean didn’t know what the hell to make of that, and judging by the post-mission briefing on the jet, Scott didn’t, either.

“Ororo, Warren? Did either of you see them doing anything while we were in there?”

“Nope, not a damn thing,” Warren shrugged, causing his feathers to rattle slightly. “They just sat back and let us do all the work.”

“Fury seemed to be agitated,” Ororo offered. “I’m not sure what it was about, but he seemed out of sorts.”

“I see… Forge, did you tap their comms like I asked?”

“Yeah, I did, but I got nothing from them.” He shook his head at the team leader. “They must’ve been maintaining silence like we were.”

Jean stopped listening and went into the back of the jet for a moment - Mystique was by herself in the cockpit for the moment, because Hank was in the first-aid compartment injecting Logan with an immune system stimulant. Between moments of being sick her boyfriend groaned at the poking and prodding.

“I’ll take care of this, you can go back up front,” Jean offered, already removing her uniform gloves so she could stretch a disposable latex pair over her hands.

“Please don’t believe him when he says the pain is tolerable,” Hank muttered to her on his way by.

“Here, lay down,” she insisted. Once he’d obeyed, Jean carefully removed the sling and immobilized his arm to the side. “Just try to relax, okay? Focus on me instead of the injury if you can.”

Really, this was to make his mind more receptive so that she could get him to fall asleep. By inducing Logan into a subconscious state, he wouldn’t be suffering the motion sickness and he wouldn’t be feeling how the meat of his entire upper arm had been severed.

Pulling away the gauze, Jean couldn’t help shaking her head. It wasn’t Hank’s fault that his mutation had made his hands more closely resemble paws, but that didn’t change the fact that it meant stitching wounds very difficult for him, and Logan’s injury was still a raw mess that was dribbling blood in some places. Jean sighed as she began re-suturing her boyfriend’s arm, annoyed at the inferior quality of the nylon and knowing she could’ve done a better job at home with the well-stocked medlab.

Hank reappeared as she was finishing up: “Until his healing factor becomes active again, we’ll need to monitor the adamantium toxicity in his blood in case chelation becomes necessary.”

“I thought the files said that adamantium poisoning is a chronic issue.”

“In small doses, yes. Logan has somewhere between ninety to one hundred and twelve kilograms spread throughout his body… I certainly wouldn’t consider that a small dose. We wouldn’t want to risk him starting on a path to encephalopathy and peripheral neuropathy, would we? It certainly wouldn’t be pleasant for him while he waits to begin healing again.”

“Encephalopathy? Are you sure?”

“That’s what the reports said,” Hank sighed. “Fortunately, we were able to get more complete copies of the notes taken on this alloy by the US military… the ones I’ve read on the carbonadium were horribly translated and obviously incomplete. But Reed said that was the best he could do when he faxed me a copy. In any case, if Logan begins showing hemolysis and hypotension, we’ll have to proceed with chelation and potentially give him intensive care.”

“Wonderful,” Jean answered sarcastically. “He gets his arm cut open with a knife and could potentially _die_ from it.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” her mentor smiled. “He’s much too stubborn to die, or hadn’t you noticed?”

Hank returned to the cockpit and Jean returned to her spot in the passenger area.

“Sorry, what’d I miss?” she asked without even a trace of irony.

“Well, we still don’t know what Fury’s trying to pull, so once we get back to the mansion I’m going to run up his phone bill asking him,” Scott answered. “And then… we did just take down Essex Corp, after all, so maybe a party because for right now we have no major enemies.”

There was lots of chatter and smiling at that, debating how said party would be thrown and prompting Jean to loudly (if uncomfortably) insist that no, they may not have alcohol of any kind since always it got her boyfriend into trouble, and in his current state it would be even worse because he essentially had no tolerance.

Jean woke Logan up once they’d landed, and after setting his arm back in the sling they went into the medlab so that she could take a blood panel. “We’ll have to do one of these every day until you heal,” she warned him, “and if you start getting sick we’ll have to load you up with drugs so that your metal bones don’t kill you.”

“Fantastic,” he grunted, looking away as she slid the needle in. Logan didn’t even wince, though. Jean was exceptional at taking samples or administering injections without her patients even feeling the “pinch” of their skin being lanced, and she was very proud of that fact. “So, how does you tellin’ me that help?”

“At least we won’t be springing a surprise blood test on you tomorrow over your bacon.”

“But I’m gonna get sick. I ain’t lookin’ forward to that.”

“No, you _may_ get sick, that’s why we’re going to keep checking you. So to make it easier on everyone, just don’t get sick,” she teased, drawing a chuckle from her boyfriend.

“Okay, baby, I’ll keep it in mind.”

The rest of the X-Men were already upstairs, probably setting up their damn party, so Jean just went into the men’s locker room with Logan and helped him put his regular clothes back on without tearing his wound back open. Something was tickling her brain the entire time, almost like the Essex Corp scientists when they’d been fleeing in mas panic as Logan hacked his way through them like wet tissue paper. Actually… it _was_ mass panic. As the elevator rose to take them up from the basement, it was bombarding her, to the point where her nose was starting to bleed.

In the rec room, the team were gathered around the tv like children in front of a horrifying cartoon. Jean got there in time to hear a very ugly sentiment from President Bush: _“We are at war with a new kind of enemy.”_

Only Scott wasn’t in a state of terror, already stomping off towards the nearest phone to presumably make someone, _anyone,_ answer for this. Jean stopped him briefly to ask why.

“The country was attacked while Fury and his team were sitting on their asses doing nothing and letting us ransack Essex Corp. If we’d been _here,_ we could’ve gotten there and probably helped rescue over a thousand of the people that just _died._ He knew. That’s why he wanted us on that mission, that’s why he set it all up for us - he was keeping us away so that this god damn attack could happen and we were too far away to even know it was going on. Excuse me.”

This must’ve really gotten to him, because Scott _never_ swore.

Of course, after pieces from several news broadcasts, Jean understood why - terrorists, not like the Friends of Humanity had been terrorists of course, had just destroyed the World Trade Center and caused massive damage to the Pentagon. Logan didn’t even stay, going upstairs to probably check on Laura. Eventually Jean followed him when she couldn’t keep watching. She stopped outside the door and listened to them talking.

“But I thought you can’t get hurt!”

“Well, sometimes there’s things that can even hurt me, darlin’. But that’s okay, ’cause your mom’s always there too, and she keeps me safe.”

“The teacher said lots of people got hurt today, daddy. Were you there?”

“No, I was out on a mission doin’ other stuff. Let’s talk about somethin’ else, okay? What’d you do all day?”

“Watched the news.”

“Dammit, kid, you ain’t s’posed to get inter’sted in news ’til you’re older.”

“The news was really scary, daddy. People were yelling and saying bad words like you always do.”

Jean finally came in as Logan sighed at their daughter.

“Yeah, well… here, go down to the kitchen and grab a snack, okay? I’mma read you a story when you get back.”

“Okay!”

Logan held up a finger for a very long time, indicating silence. When he finally lowered it, Jean knew Laura was out of earshot, and she could safely let the horror of what had happened crash down on her.

* * *

52.

 

The briefing room was absolutely silent to the point where Warren wasn’t even trying to pick a fight with Logan. Scott was still so angry it looked like blood could start shooting out his ears from the pressure.

“I spoke with Colonel Fury for awhile last night,” the team leader began through a tightly-clenched jaw. “And I was right. He knew this attack was coming, and not only did he do nothing to stop it, but he kept us away on purpose. His reasoning for that is… I don’t even know how to describe it, so I’ll just say what he said. ‘I did you a favor. Now, nobody will give two shits about their imaginary problem with mutants.’ So… apparently three thousand people needed to die, and that was him doing us a _favor._ ”

Logan thought back right then, probably because Jean was also thinking it, that three thousand people was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. Considering he’d been sent back in time and probably killed for his efforts, if what Hank and Charles said was true and Erik had run him through with rebar before flinging him away from the White House.

“Y’know, Slim, he _was_ doin’ us a favor,” Logan ground out. “You think he did this just ’cause he could? I gotta tell you, much as I hate those fuckers, that ain’t somethin’ S.H.I.E.L.D. would let happen without a pretty damn good reason. And what’s three thousand versus the whole of mutantkind?”

Scott shook his head like he was trying to whip it free from his neck.

“I’m sorry, what are you _talking_ about, Logan? The whole of mutantkind? Did I _miss_ something?!”

“Alright, I ain’t doin’ this here and you clearly need a fuckin’ time out,” Logan growled. Shoving his way past the other X-Men, he grabbed Scott by the back of the neck and forced him towards the door. “Meetin’s over, go back to your regularly-scheduled bullshit.”

They weren’t someplace safe like the danger room, so Scott couldn’t use his blasts while Logan hauled him to the professor’s office. The team leader still fought the whole way, but Logan was taller and stronger than him even with just one arm at his disposal. By the time they reached Chuck, Logan had Scott in a headlock and was almost dragging him.

“There. Sit your ass down, Slim, ’cause there’s somethin’ you gotta know about.” He turned to Xavier: “Tell him about the sentinels. He ain’t gonna stop pitchin’ his little bitch fit ’til he knows the truth.”

“Logan-” Scott tried to start yelling.

“Scott, please. Logan has a very good reason for this,” the professor interrupted gravely.

Having been given this explanation himself a couple years ago (for what they’d said was actually the second time), Logan didn’t really pay attention as Charles reiterated it for Scott. Instead he zoned out, talked to Jean about why he’d dragged the team leader out of a briefing, and told her that yes, it was alright if she also informed the rest of the X-Men what was going on. It wasn’t because he liked sharing his secrets with the world - it was because this was clearly necessary. Something as terrible as that future needed to be understood and avoided, just like what his classes’ history books said about Hitler.

 

“So how much did you tell them?” Logan asked when they’d met up in the cafeteria for dinner.

“Nothing, actually. I didn’t have to because Hank stepped in and gave them the ridiculously detailed version,” Jean answered.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” he chuckled as he heaped pork chops onto his tray.

Jean telekinetically carried said try to the table for him and sawed the meat into manageable pieces, which was actually a lot quicker and easier when she _wasn’t_ using her hands to do it. He was wolfing down each bite almost as fast as she was cutting, but Jean was just looking at her tomato salad without having a shred of appetite. Really, she hadn’t all day.

“Y’know, goin’ hungry ain’t gonna change nothin’,” Logan pointed out. “It happened and a lotta people died. It’s awful. It’s also gonna stay that way.”

“I know, but…” She stabbed one of the vegetables with her fork but didn’t lift it to her mouth. “It’s terrible that this is what it took for the country to forget that it hates us.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But that still ain’t changin’ the fact it happened. And it was prob’ly always gonna take somethin’ this big and this bad. You still gotta eat your dinner, baby.”

Laura finally appeared with her own tray of pork chops, talking Logan’s ear off around bear-sized bites of meat. Jean struggled to even get half of her salad down and didn’t say anything when their daughter just gave up on the steak knife and used her claws. No matter what her boyfriend said, Scott was also right - the director of an international organization had kept them from helping to save more than three thousand people, and he’d done it on purpose. That was still a terrible cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about 5 pages shorter than normal, but that's ok.
> 
> You know, when I first started this story, I actually didn't even have the idea to use this as a plot point. It just sort of tackled me out of nowhere, but I'm glad I put it in. I didn't get into too much detail because I was only 5 years old when this happened, so I had to look up stuff for it as always.
> 
> As far as Daken and Sabertooth both getting axed by Essex Corp, it's because this entire plot point wouldn't work if they were still alive, since they're too dangerous for the public to just forget about. The other thing is that I had this whole absurd showdown planned between Logan and Daken but I just couldn't make it work and this story is now hitting 100K words, so it's getting massively out of hand.
> 
> Big, BIG time-skip between here and the next segment, because really everything up until this point was just the setup for when Logan returns from the past :D
> 
> One last thing. I don't know if all of you are familiar with how the "statistics" feature works here on AO3, but I just checked them the other day. At the time of this segment's posting, *After Apocalypse* has the 3rd highest amount of kudos, the 3rd highest amount of bookmarks, the most subscriptions and the most "comment threads." So, that makes me feel a little better about this story, even though proportionally to my other works it's really only average. It also has the highest word count of all my stuff, but that's neither here nor there :)


	11. 2023.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, people.
> 
> I know the X-Men movies usually say "in the near future," but I just used the years they came out.

53.

 

Jean was in the middle of typing up an addition to a medical file when Hank came barreling over: “Logan just lost consciousness in the middle of a class.”

“What?” Jean asked, leaping out of her chair and abandoning her laptop halfway through a sentence.

“His students just called down in a panic.”

Well, that put _her_ into a panic, and it also made her glad that Laura was out helping on a recruiting mission because now she wouldn’t have to explain anything until the situation was under control.

Jean rushed to Logan’s classroom and found him on the floor by his desk, his students all clustered around him. Strangely enough, he wasn’t pale or flushed, and really there was nothing to indicate why he’d simply drop in the middle teaching. His pulse and his breathing were fine when she checked, which made even less sense.

“What happened?”

“He just started… like, it looked like he couldn’t breathe,” one girl stammered. “He was, like, gasping or something, so he sat down, and then he just fell over and didn’t get back up. So we called.”

“Good. Thank you. Please, everyone, you can leave. When it’s time, just go to your next class, okay?”

Jean tried to access his subconscious through their mental link, but his mind seemed to have become a dark, empty pit. That more than anything else scared her, and once she’d gotten him to the medlab she and Hank ran every test they could think of. His lungs were clear, his heart was fine, his blood pressure was absolutely normal. There was no excess of adamantium in his soft tissue, not that they’d expected that anyway.

Then they did an electroencephalogram.

The electrodes were all placed properly and there was nothing wrong with the monitor or the equipment, which meant the only option left was that Logan’s brain had simply stopped working with no apparent trigger. Jean and Hank checked all their books and even tried Google out of desperation, but there was nothing anywhere that could tell them why a perfectly healthy man with no medical conditions would suddenly go brain-dead.

“This is bizarre,” Hank murmured, studying the blank EEG. “He was fine yesterday when he brought in one of his players during practice… the boy broke his foot and needed to be carried, so Logan did it himself. He was absolutely fine…”

“I know,” Jean nodded, watching Logan’s face instead. His temples had turned gray a couple years ago, so maybe something _was_ off and they’d missed it back then. But nothing had been wrong with him this morning at breakfast. “There’s got to be a reason, we just haven’t looked in the right place.”

The situation was so strange that they decided to put him on an IV in case he ended up crashing and brought over the supplies they’d need in such an instance. Jean couldn’t tell if this was even warranted or they were being needlessly reactive, but right then for her it didn’t matter either way. Her boyfriend had collapsed in the middle of his second period history class and was now registering zero brain activity.

Not that it helped anything, but Jean ended up hovering over Logan for a little more than three hours, watching and waiting for _something_ to happen. Not that she knew what that _something_ was supposed to be - for him to wake up suddenly, or to go into arrest like they’d been thinking about earlier. Anything besides this stagnancy of blank EEG readouts, because even if he crashed that was at least an event Jean could react to.

Right after she should’ve been upstairs having lunch, though, the EEG started showing activity again.

“His healing factor must have fixed the issue,” Hank speculated as they watched the monitor slowly showing increases until eventually it was at the norm for a sleeping person. “Even if we’re still unsure of what said issue was.”

“There’s really no explanation for this?” Jean questioned.

“None I could find. We’ll just keep him here for now, and when he wakes up we’ll ask him what preceded the incident. I’m going to procure some lunch for myself, would you like anything?”

“Um, sure, just - a sandwich or a salad is fine. Maybe bring something for Logan in case he wakes up, too.”

“Certainly.”

 

Ultimately, Logan didn’t wake up, but he was twitching and making noise in his sleep and the EEG kept reading normal, so by the end of the day Jean felt safe bringing him upstairs and putting him in bed. He’d probably appreciate it tomorrow morning if he didn’t wake up in the medlab in any case. The strange thing was that, for the first time in decades, she had to work very hard if she wanted to get anything from his dreams, and it wasn’t even one of his usual ones; he was looking up from under the water, and in real life he kept muttering “I’m drowning… I’m drowning…”

When Jean’s alarm went off the next morning, Logan was still out, but he’d rolled onto his side and was snoring and drooling like normal, so that made her feel better. He was clearly going to miss breakfast, but he always made it to his first class on time and that didn’t start until eight. She turned on the radio as she got ready for work - he’d set it to that channel he liked which played songs from the ’60s and ’70s, but Jean didn’t care enough to change it back right then and just left it on for him so he could listen when he got up later.

Down in the medlab, the injured hockey player was still being watched since his injury was a complex break: “Hey, uh, can you have Professor Xavier send me my physics homework? If our grades get too bad, Logan kicks our asses…”

“Sure, I can get your homework for you,” Jean smiled. “Now, swallow these whole. Don’t bite down on them and make sure you drink the entire glass of water.”

“How long until I can play again?”

She sighed. “Not until next season… I’m sorry. But you should be healed in time to start summer practice with everyone else.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, obviously unhappy with that answer - not that she could blame him.

Jean left her lab coat on her desk chair because it would’ve been too warm to wear upstairs. Scott and Xavier were talking about some student who needed to be suspended and what the best way to go about that might be, considering she couldn’t just be sent home to her parents.

“Excuse me for just a second, professor, Andrew wants his physics homework.”

“Certainly, I’ll find it for you in a moment.”

Jean nodded and leaned against the door frame to wait, not paying attention to their conversation and instead thinking about what happened to Logan yesterday. It had been so strange, and maybe she shouldn’t have taken him out of medlab until he’d actually regained consciousness… it was certainly abnormal that she’d needed to pry her way in so that she could see his dreams.

“Jean…”

She turned to look, and there he was.

That by itself was worrying. She’d thought he was still asleep because she hadn’t felt him waking up - even so, she made herself smile. “Hey, Logan.”

“You’re here…”

“Where else would I be?” Jean wondered, not understanding him.

He was behaving so… _wrong_ right then. Moving very slowly, like he didn’t understand what was going on in the world around him, and now he was reaching out hesitantly like he thought touching her would burn him. That made no sense, considering how he’d once gotten burned by touching her and hadn’t been afraid of it then.

Of course, the situation wasn’t helped when Scott tried to leave the room at that moment and almost ran face first into Logan’s arm. But at least Scott was acting like his normal, passive-aggressive self towards the other man: “Woah, easy pal.”

And then things just got weirder, because Logan actually _smiled_ at that.

“Some things never change… good to see you, Scott.” A hand on the former team leader’s shoulder.

“Uh-huh. See you later, Jean. Okay.” On his way out, though, he asked her, _What’s going on here?_

 _*I’ll tell you when I know,*_ was all she could offer.

Now, Logan was almost gawking at Charles. “Professor…?”

“Logan? Is everything alright?”

Hazel eyes found her again, filled with a strange mix of awe, confusion, and what almost looked like resigned sadness. “Yeah… yeah, I think it might be.”

Deciding she wasn’t going to get anywhere with this, Jean started to leave, having forgotten what she’d come up to do in the first place. The beginning of Logan’s conversation with the professor made her stop after just two steps, though.

“You did it.”

“Did what? Logan, don’t you have a class to teach?”

“A class? To… teach?”

“Yes. History.”

“History… actually, I could use some help with that…”

“Help with what?”

“Pretty much everything after 1973. I think the history I know is a little different.”

A brief pause.

“Welcome back…”

“It’s good to see you, Charles. It’s good to see everyone.”

“Well… I had a promise to keep. You and I have a lot of catching up to do…”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Another short silence, and then just one terrible word: “Drowning.”

He hadn’t been dreaming about water last night. Jean put the pieces together all at once, that this was “other Logan” hitting his return point. Erik had sent him flying, terribly wounded, into the Potomac to die.

This wasn’t her Logan.

For all intents and purposes, her Logan no longer existed.

Jean managed to get to her desk in medlab, at least, before she started crying. A friendship-turned-relationship, this incredibly long connection dating back to 1986, was now null and void. In its place she was left with a stranger wearing her boyfriend’s face, and… oh god, what was she going to tell Laura? How could she explain this to her daughter when she didn’t even understand it herself?

 

So, the X-Men no longer officially existed, because there simply was no need for them. Small two-man teams went out every so often, whenever a new mutant manifested their powers, in order to bring in students. He was a god damn history teacher now, too. Logan wasn’t sure if that was logic or irony, but either way the idea was a little intimidating. Before the sentinels, before Trask Industries had popped out of the woodwork, hell, before he’d gone on his hiatus and ended up in Japan, Logan hadn’t really gotten along with the students very well.

He also ran the afternoon gym classes and coached hockey, but those at least sounded like things he could handle. And Charles had told him that he should go find his family, talk with them, explain what had happened.

Which begged the question: _What family?_

Charles had also offered to suspend his classes for the next couple of days so that he could get his bearings back, an offer he’d gratefully accepted. So now Logan was meandering back up to his room when what he really wanted to do was follow Jean down to the infirmary - but that wouldn’t be fair to her or to Scott. After so long, and after he’d finally managed to rationalize the events that had led to him killing her, Logan had resolved to himself that he wouldn’t chase after Jean in this timeline, no matter how much he wanted to. Really, he’d never even _dreamed_ that she’d be here, and seeing her again for the first time since… hell, since 2005 or 2006 or something, had felt like his own claws stabbing him through the chest. He’d been totally unprepared for that encounter.

So, he had a family now, apparently. The most logical place to discover this new aspect of himself would be his bedroom. A few students had asked Logan on the way by in the hall if he was okay after falling in class yesterday, which he just played along with because he didn’t have a clue what they were talking about.

It was the only reason he could explain to himself why, all of a sudden, he was noticing Jean’s scent in here with his stuff.

Well, she was a doctor. If he’d been injured badly enough to make him collapse during a teaching session, she’d probably just checked in with him here because she knew he hated going down to medical. But why would she actually do that? Why get suckered into coming _inside his bedroom?_ If he knew himself, timelines notwithstanding, there was no way he’d been a gentleman about such a meeting.

The answer came fairly easily, and caught him totally off-guard.

There were rows and rows of old-fashioned photo albums in one of his bookcases, each labeled with the years they encompassed and beginning surprisingly with 1986-1987. The first picture in there was of himself, sitting out on the grass with a can of cheap beer in his hand, and underneath was written _May ’86_ in handwriting much too nice to be his own. The photo next to it was of… Jean. A very young version of Jean, for sure, but it was definitely her. Why was she in here?

Flipping through, Logan told himself he was getting confused by the fact that she seemed to be in almost every single one of these pictures, always standing next to him and smiling even when he wasn’t wearing the same expression. In the corner of his brain, though, he wasn’t confused - there was a strange ray of hope springing up there, like this wasn’t an accident or a fever-dream or something. There had to be a reason she was featured prominently in this record of his life.

A pause in flipping through the album led Logan to a similar plastic binder, not quite as thick, and inside he discovered four entire years of letters on notebook paper; Jean had written to him all throughout medical school, detailing brief (as well as unproductive) relationships with her peers and which classes she loved and which classes she hated and was she going to see him at her graduation, to which he’d said maybe. These were letters clearly written to a best friend, and that best friend had apparently been him back in 1990.

Instead of going through every single photo album, Logan found himself reaching for the one labeled 1996 as if there was runway lights pointing him to it. And even then, he was just flipping until something caught his eye - him, sitting on Jean’s hospital bed? Okay, so it was taken down in the medlab. But Logan didn’t recognize the absurdly happy look on his younger self, and… good god, was he holding a _baby?_ He and Jean had _kids?_

“Fuck me,” Logan groaned, rubbing his face with both palms. This couldn’t be real. “There’s no way this is true,” he muttered to himself. “Magneto drowned me and I’m hallucinating before my brain turns off or something…” The door opened behind him, but he didn’t need to look. He could smell salt on her. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“What?”

“When I saw you earlier outside Charles’ office… Jean, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, Logan?” She wasn’t crying, even if she obviously had been before. She just sounded defeated instead. “That this morning it was _you_ who woke up in this bed instead of the man I’ve been in a relationship with for more than thirty years, now? How am I supposed to tell you that and not sound bitter about it? After everything you had to do - and yes, I know all about it because Hank told me - all of your efforts and bravery and everything Erik probably did to you, that’s not something you should’ve had to hear right away. But I just… I have to be honest, I don’t think I can do this again. The brain damage incident was one thing, but now, you’re… you’re not _you_ anymore. You’re not the version I know. I can’t teach you everything from scratch again, I can’t go through all your trauma again, because twice was more than enough. So I’m really sorry, but… I just can’t.”

And she was sorry - he could tell. The anguish and sadness radiated off Jean like heat from a stove. That made him feel worse than what she said, because he was the one making her be in pain.

“I don’t blame you,” Logan muttered, still not looking. “And you shouldn’t have to do all that, either. It seems like I pretty much killed your boyfriend, after all, so… don’t feel bad about feeling bad over this. Can you… uh, can you tell me who this is?”

He pointed to the picture, and she came over to look. Logan breathed her scent in deeply but silently, knowing this was probably his only chance. He’d screwed something up somewhere along the line, and so even though Jean had been with him in this life, he still couldn’t have her. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to have her at all; it was a sobering thought.

“That’s Laura. She’s out recruiting right now, but she’ll be back tonight and you can talk to her.”

Logan nodded and sighed.

“Look. I’m sorry for what I did, and I know it probably doesn’t help to tell you I didn’t know I was doing it. But… if he was anything like I am, then nothing anywhere meant more to him than you. It was like that for me, anyway, even after you… died. I so wanted this chance back then… but Phoenix…” He stopped, still unable to even talk about what had happened. “Never mind. I’m just sorry.”

Jean moved away from where he was sitting on the bed, and just before she closed the door behind her on the way out, she whispered, “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

 

After an excruciating and exhausting day of poking through those damn photo albums and then getting interrogated by Hank, Logan had decided that he deserved to sit on the roof with a box of Molson and watch the sun go down. Until he’d been sent back by Kitty, Logan had gone about a decade without seeing the damn sky, let alone the sun, because the clouds of ash and pollutants had blocked everything out. It had been almost as hard to see during the day as at night, and the air smelled like burning flesh and chemical soot. The cleanness here in Westchester was pretty jarring.

Footsteps, and a scent a lot like his own. He gathered that this must be Laura, because she casually sat down on the lip of the roof to his right and stole one of his beers.

“So what’d you do that made mom flip the fuck out this time?”

“Saved the world,” Logan grunted. It was strange how familiar she already seemed after only ten seconds. “I’m… uh… the alternate version of your dad? Or something like that. So I’ve never actually met you. That didn’t go over too well with your mom.”

“Ah, you’re _that_ Logan,” Laura nodded, as if the statement made perfect sense. Of course, when she explained, it _did_ make perfect sense. “When I was a kid, Hank and Chuck talked about you a lot. You-you, not my dad. I kinda wondered how that would pan out, really. I guess mom wasn’t able to handle it with our customary grace and good humor.”

“Jesus, kid, be more like me,” he snorted.

“Yeah, you’ve said that to me before, too.”

They both snickered and chugged their beers in unison.

“What am I supposed to do?” Logan wondered. “In my timeline, you didn’t exist and Jean got killed and then she came back and killed Scott and then I had to kill _her_ and it was just a mess.”

“That sounds like fun,” Laura grunted sarcastically. “Although I bet it was nice to see Scott get killed.”

“Wouldn’t know, wasn’t there. Actually, that was a really fucking bad thing. Because Charles got killed, too, and… there were only four X-Men after I left. I couldn’t stay after Alcatraz.”

Laura offered a low whistle of contemplation. “Maybe it wasn’t so fun, then.” She popped open a second beer. “Did you talk to mom about any of this, or are you just going to sit up here and whine about it to me all night?”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me right now. Besides, I got the idea she already knows everything. There’s really nothing for me to say.”

“Ah, so you _are_ going to sit here with me bitching and moaning all night. Glad to have that cleared up.”

Logan couldn’t help chuckling.

“So did you just leave your Y-chromosome at the playground as a kid and forget to bring it home with you one day? Because other than that I’m starting to think that picture was faked and you were just cloned or something.”

“Again, not the first time I’ve heard that from you.”

“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be, would it?”

“If you start crying, I’m going to hit you.”

That got him to laugh for real and he slapped her on the back of her shoulder in a companionable motion. “Don’t worry, I’d hit me, too.”

He hadn’t been expecting anything like Laura to be part of the package, but Logan had already decided that his daughter was probably his favorite surprise about coming to this new future.

 

“You know, in pretty much every other state in the country, there’s this thing called ‘common law marriage,’” came Laura’s voice from behind her.

Jean tried not to show that she’d been startled; her daughter still did it on purpose sometimes, even at age 27, and also still found it funny. “You’ve been talking to Logan, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but that’s not why I’m here.” Laura sat down pointedly by the side of her desk. “Actually I guess it kind of is… he’s on the roof bemoaning his lost love and blah-blah-blah. Anyway. Common law marriage isn’t a thing in New York, but pretty much after you’ve been with someone for however long, you’re considered married. In any other state, you and dad would be considered married even though you never had a ceremony or any’a that bullshit. When it was finally legal for Scott and Kurt to get married for real, they didn’t stop having issues, but they were _married._ Married people work out their problems instead of just giving up, and can you see where I’m going with this or do I have to keep talking?”

“Laura, do you even _know_ what happened this time? Because it’s really not as simple as you seem to think it is.”

“Mom…” Laura pinched between her eyes and got the _end-this-bullshit-or-I’ll-end-you_ look on her face. “Did you even talk to him?”

“A little bit.”

“Well, why don’t you try talking to him a _lot_ bit? Because usually when people need to work something out, they talk to each other. Or start clawing if they deserve it, but he doesn’t deserve it any more than you do if you could claw people. God al-fucking-mighty, why are you making _me_ sound like the parent?” she groaned. “Seriously, what’s so hard about this?”

“When you were two he lost all his memories and it took years for us to get that sorted out. I don’t have the energy to go through that again.”

“Yeah you do,” Laura scoffed. “You’re blaming dad for… erasing himself, I guess. I think that’s what he said. But you know what, there’s something from his life that makes him hate himself so much that he’s just going to roll over and let you keep blaming him and probably let you never talk to him again. So here’s what’s going to happen, mom. You’re going to get over it and go fix this, or I will never, _ever_ forgive you for it, you understand?” It seemed to take a lot of effort for her daughter to scrounge up an expression of sympathy. “It really sucks that things happened this way. But I’ve never seen you give up on each other before, and I don’t want to watch it happen now. If you just talk to him about this for like ten minutes, you’ll probably reach the same conclusion I did… it’s like a computer, kind of. Same operating system but with different files stored on the hard drive. He’s the same guy, mom. He just hasn’t done some of the same stuff as he did here.”

After Laura finished chewing her out, Jean did go up to the roof - and for a second she was twenty years old again looking at Logan through Cerebro, because he was sitting out with a beer and looking at the night sky. This time, though, he was older and somehow even more grizzled, and his loneliness was stinging the edges of her telepathy like a swarm of jellyfish surrounding a diver.

“I know you’re there,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Are you going to just stand there staring, or do you need something?”

Incredibly, he didn’t sound bitter or angry at her, just emotionally wounded. Of course he would be; “emotionally wounded” was Logan’s default setting.

“Laura gave me the verbal equivalent of a good smack upside the head,” Jean offered, slowly making her way over. “And I’m sorry for how I probably came across to you today. I wasn’t being fair.”

“It’s okay,” Logan muttered. “I’m used to wanting things I can’t have… I try to at least be realistic about why I can’t have it these days, that’s all. You know… for years, whenever I was dying or sleeping or otherwise out of it, I kept seeing you in my head… and there was that one time you called out to me and I found you with Magneto’s clan out in the woods. So I thought maybe that’s what it was again, but then… eventually I realized you never would’ve said those things to me. It was your voice, but they were my thoughts. There was that last time in Japan where I was about to bite it and I figured it out. So it made me let go, or at least for awhile. Then in ’73, Charles was reading my mind, trying to talk to himself in the future, and… the first thing he found in my head was memories of Weapon X and of you. Two of the most important things out of my life, I think. Weapons X… well, that one’s pretty fucking obvious. But you were important because you weren’t just another woman I couldn’t save, you… I had no choice. And you wanted me to do it, too. You asked me to before then, because you knew, and that was really the last time you were yourself. Then at Alcatraz… there was just a little piece left that wasn’t Phoenix, and you asked me to save you. But you weren’t asking to live. You asked me to save you from being that monster.”

Jean felt tears welling up again as she listened to him talk. Eventually she sat down on the other side of the beer box, but she couldn’t bear to look at him right then.

“That sounds like something I’d ask you to do,” she admitted softly. “If I couldn’t control it, then I probably would’ve asked you to do it here, too. I used to think I was a monster when I was younger.”

“You’re not,” Logan murmured. “You never were. I’ve killed so many people, but I never would’ve done it if you hadn’t asked me to. That’s the only reason I did it. It was hurting you. You… you had no control over it, and it was destroying everything. But that wasn’t what you wanted. I would’ve found some other way if there was one. But there just wasn’t.”

“I know,” she nodded. “You used to dream about it sometimes. I think when you were sent back, there were traces left from your timeline. The first time I saw it in your head was when I set you free at Alkali Lake.”

“Wait, you were there?”

“Yeah, Stryker captured some of us…”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Well, uh, I was going to joke that it sounds like that was a really romantic moment for us, but given the circumstances it doesn’t seem all that funny. So Stryker was around for this time too, huh? Tell me that fucker got what he deserved.”

“He did, very much so. You tortured him to death by cutting him open with your claws the way he did it to you. His lungs filled up with blood and he suffocated.”

Logan snorted. “Good. Bastard had it coming.”

“Did he die in your timeline?”

“Yeah. The dam burst at Alkali Lake and he drowned… we thought you did, too… never mind. I don’t want to think about that any more than I already have.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.” She watched Logan swallow the rest of his beer, then peg the bottle off the roof to smash on the ground below. It was a frustrated gesture she’d seen before. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to answer this, but… when you were drowning, did Erik do that to you?”

“Yeah. He stabbed me with a bunch of rebar and flung me into the river… I didn’t have the metal yet, so it was the only way he could do it. Originally, the shit didn’t get put in until ’79. Was it the same here?”

“Um… ’81 or ’82, and only after Stryker let his guards pin you down in your cell and… you know what, it’s not important.”

“Jesus. That bad, huh? What about Victor?”

“He’s been dead for awhile. We didn’t even find out he _was_ your brother until after.”

Logan nodded and lit up a cigar. “Not that this isn’t fun and all, but are we really just going to sit out here and rehash all my old nightmares? Because Laura said she was going to go kick your ass until you agreed that we should just kiss and make up or something.”

Jean laughed a little at that. “She’s really close to you.”

“‘Close?’ She fucking _is_ me,” Logan snorted. “Did she get anything from you at all?”

“Our eyes are the same color.”

“Oh, well then, that’s the most important thing…”

“You’d never know it to look at her or especially to talk to her, but she loves you the same way now as when she was four and learned what the title ‘X-Man’ really meant. That’s probably why she got so angry with me… you’re her hero and she still wants to be like you.”

“Really?”

“Every man still has that eight-year-old inside him that likes terrible Michael Bay movies with too many explosions and just wants his mom to love him even if he’s too tough to admit it. Every woman still has that eight-year-old inside her that thinks being passive-aggressive is better than just fist fighting no matter how much she wants to and still believes her dad can do any amazing thing she can think of.”

“That sounds really sexist.”

“Well, it’s something Hank said once, I think. I’m pretty sure it’s also true, at least a little.”

“Hm.” Logan popped open another beer to suck on between puffs of his cigar. “Last time I even saw _my_ mother was 1845, so I can’t really attest to that first one.”

“You’re a hundred and ninety one years old?” Jean questioned, half-disbelieving.

“Yeah, sounds right… what, don’t I look good for my age?”

“Yes, Logan, you look good for your age,” she laughed.

* * *

54.

 

Logan woke up on the floor and immediately realized he’d dreamed all that shit; he was still running from sentinels, Storm was probably on watch if he was sleeping… except there was sunlight coming through the window, and more than that there was a fucking window for sunlight to even come in through.

“Dammit,” Logan muttered, sitting up and cracking his back. “I’ll never get used to this…”

He’d slept on the floor by choice, because he wasn’t such a dick that he’d kick Jean out of her own bed. She’d said it was fine, but after everything else he couldn’t make her sleep near him if she didn’t want to. Besides, having been nearly killed for the hundred thousandth time, Logan was sure his nightmares would come back and the idea of accidentally stabbing Jean wasn’t a welcome one.

Getting up, he looked over and saw that Jean was still sleeping, but decided to get dressed in the bathroom. It was an odd feeling. Logan wasn’t uncomfortable with his body by any means, and obviously in this timeline she’d seen him naked, but for some reason it still seemed rude. He showered first, just because it felt good and he hadn’t really had time for it in ’73 since he’d been too busy trying to save the world. Logan was clean, and in fresh clothes, now shaving around his mouth and getting ready to trim his chops. It was incredible just to be allowed these luxuries again, to be annoyed by a steamed-up mirror and wondering if he should get his hair cut soon. How long until he re-adjusted and started taking things for granted like he had so many years before?

The door was knocked on: “Logan? Are you in there?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a second,” he called over his shoulder.

When he emerged, Jean was still in her pajamas and pointedly holding up his pillow. “You slept on the floor.”

“So?”

“I told you that it was okay, so why did you sleep on the floor?”

“Because it’s not okay,” he muttered. “Every time you look at me it’s like I’m gutting you.”

“Why didn’t you just say you’re having a hard time?”

Her voice was trying to be angry with him, but her eyes were sad and he couldn’t meet them for more than a second or two.

“I’m not allowed to have a hard time with this. I’m the one that fucked up your life just by being here, and me fucking up your life never ends well for anyone.” Logan cut his sigh short so that it became a frustrated huff. “Fine, you know what, I’m having a hard time. There were so many times and so many years where I wished I could kill myself, and this isn’t what I had in mind at all when I thought those things.”

Logan started towards the closet for one of his flannels, but Jean grabbed him on his way by and pulled him into an unexpected hug. It took him a moment to react, but he put his arms around her and rested his head against hers. She smelled like safety to him, a disarming type of safety that usually wasn’t available considering his occupation and lifestyle before now. Jean had been set to walk out on him last night, which he still couldn’t blame her for if he tried, but some part of her clearly wanted to help him even now. It reminded him why he fell in love with her to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” Logan murmured, unable to resist nuzzling his face against her hair. “I’m sorry I did this to you…”

“What did you do, Logan?”

“I took over here and wiped out the version you knew,” he answered. “Among other things that I’m sure you don’t want to hear again.”

“None of those things were your fault.” She was running a hand along his back. “After everything you said last night, you have nothing to be ashamed of, and if I made you think there was then I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“Actually there was this one time when we were going after Stryker and I tried to get you to cheat on Scott with me… are you sure I shouldn’t feel bad about that?”

Jean started laughing against his neck: “I was with _Scott?_ You know he’s married to Kurt, right?”

“Uh… that explains a lot, actually. I hotwired his car once and the CD he had in was questionable for a straight guy.”

“Why would you steal one of Scott’s cars when you probably had a perfectly good pickup truck from the mid-80’s with two hundred thousand miles on it?” Jean teased.

Jean was teasing him…?

Actually, Logan decided liked Jean teasing him.

“Well, the truck from the ’80’s with two hundred thousand miles got blown up after Victor downed a tree in front of it. I flew through the windshield, broke my neck, and the damn propane tank in the back caught on my cigar butt. Then I woke up in the infirmary, panicked and choked you half to death.”

“Oh, fun.”

“Yeah.” Logan let go of her and sighed a little. “But you were still nice to me afterwards. I wasn’t really sure why at first, but I think you just got that I was afraid and I didn’t mean it. I still apologized for it, though.”

“Well, I forgive you, I guess. Considering that was a whole other life.”

“You forgave me back then, too.”

He let her lead him down to breakfast, which was an entirely new ritual for him. Logan had never gone down to breakfast in his own timeline, generally skipping it in favor of several pounds of raw sausage or bacon by himself. He’d gotten even more reclusive than normal after Jean died the first time.

Now, though, Logan was having breakfast with her like an ordinary person. That was never a label he’d thought would be applicable to him.

“You’re overthinking things,” Jean informed him.

“You reading my thoughts?”

“No, I just know that look.” Very slowly, as they waited in line with their trays, she reached out for his hand. “You’re going to be disoriented for awhile. That’s okay. How long were you away from the mansion before you went back in time?”

“Uh…” Logan had to think for a second about that one. “Somewhere around sixteen or seventeen years. I was just out in the woods for however long and then ended up getting dragged off to fucking Japan, which… that’s not a story I want to get into right now. It wasn’t fun. And then a couple years after the problems I got saddled with in Tokyo, Trask Industries started playing their cards. Ran into Magneto in a fucking airport of all places and then got stuck fighting pointlessly for ten years. So, a really long time.”

It was a little startling to see his tray getting heaped with scrambled eggs and bacon without having to ask, but then Logan remembered that he’d technically been here for decades. Of course they knew that his stomach was a bottomless pit.

After they’d sat down, Hank immediately came over and took a spot across from Logan: “There are several things I forgot to ask about yesterday.”

“That’s great. Can it wait until later?” he groaned before shoveling in a huge scoop of eggs.

Jean was chewing slowly and staring off into space, so Logan got the idea she was thinking about something pretty important. He took the moment to just look at her - he thought she was fifty-something judging by how far back those photos had gone of the two of them, but she still looked good. He didn’t think there was a way for her _not_ to look good to him.

“I’d prefer not to wait too long, and… Jean, would you like to weigh in here?”

“Hm? What do you need, Hank?”

“It has been brought _loudly_ to my attention that you may need some help resolving this issue between yourselves.”

“I don’t need any help,” Logan insisted stubbornly, even knowing it was far from the truth.

“Laura came and hassled you this morning?” Jean guessed. “Don’t worry, she gave both of us our own verbal thrashings last night…”

“Be that as it may, this isn’t something that can be fixed in just one night,” Hank pointed out. “And I can tell just by looking the amount of discomfort you’re still having.”

“And that’s your business… how?” Logan growled. “I’m pretty sure this can happen later when I’m not trying to eat, furball.”

To prove that point, he crammed a fistful of bacon into his mouth and started chewing. It got him the eye-roll he’d expected as a result.

“Well, at least one thing hasn’t changed. Your unbelievable and insufferable obstinance has reminded me of why I’m retiring next year, Logan, so thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” he shrugged. “But I don’t think they have nursing homes for giant blue cats.”

“Be nice,” Jean rebuked in a way that suggested she’d had to say that to him a lot over the years.

“Or at least my approximation of nice, right?” Logan muttered. At her confused look, he only informed her, “Someone said that to me once.”

“In any case, as I am trying to help you despite your stubborn insistence that you don’t need it, I do suggest looking at each other’s memories in some capacity. In your case, Logan, it will help you accept your current reality and your place in it. And Jean, I know you think you understand what he’s gone through to get here, but it’s quite obvious that you don’t… at least not to the full extent.”

 

“It’s been a while since we’ve had to do it this way,” Jean remarked conversationally.

“Really? Why?” Logan frowned.

She paused, her fingers not quite at his temples yet. “Because our minds were connected. It started out with dreams, and yes, it was exactly as bad as that probably sounds. But then it was feelings and sensations… eventually thoughts. We used to have whole conversations without the comms on missions even if we were floors away.”

“Hm.” He looked like he was mulling that one over. “That sounds like it was a lot harder on you than on me.”

“Actually, it was about even,” Jean shrugged. “Okay. Just relax.”

Really, she only needed the highlights - stabbing his father, so many decades in the army, Weapons Plus. Some of the years between Weapons Plus and getting found by the X-Men were still a dark smear for Logan, but she doubted they had anything important in them. Liberty Island and then Alkali Lake… she watched herself die through his eyes, swallowed by the water… the strange couple of years where Logan and Scott _mostly_ got along during the odd month when Logan was actually present in the mansion. Often, he’d been out roaming, getting into fights or passed out drunk in the corner of some dive bar in the Yukon.

Phoenix.

It was still terrible for Jean, seeing what could’ve happened to her if the right steps hadn’t been taken in time for her to learn how to work with her mutation instead of being warped by it. And of course, that snippet she’d first seen in Logan’s mind during their original meeting, of him just holding her lifeless body and crying over the situation.

 _Why didn’t it happen this way?_ Logan whispered. _In this time, I mean. Why did it work out here?_

 _*Because I had you,*_ Jean answered - it was a simplified explanation, but that didn’t make it untrue.

Inseparable years of scrounging a pitiful living out in the wilds of northwest Canada, living on whiskey and raw deer meat with a box of stolen pictures and a shitty radio for company. Logan was half-tricked into going to Japan, and Jean felt every second of pain in a week of nothing but torment. He’d almost been made mortal, then, unable to heal to the point where blood loss convinced him the best thing to do was to let himself fall off a roof. He’d thought it was her talking to him.

_*I never would’ve said those things to you, Logan.*_

_I know. I figured that out in the end. Those were just my own thoughts being played in your voice._

And finally, context for those seven words she’d never been able to place - _“I love you, Jean. I always will.”_ It had been his last hallucination of her.

Two more years of relatively unimportant goings-on, and then the sentinels came. Jean did her best to condense those memories together so that they wouldn’t have to suffer them too long, but she wasn’t sure it made a difference. Logan was flinching away from them, wishing he could bury those images forever and never speak or think about them again for as long as he lived.

Finally, 1973, trying to save Mystique and bumping randomly into Stryker and then being stabbed through, everywhere, with pieces of rebar so that Erik could just throw him away like trash. There was nothing he could do, punctured with metal and crushed beneath the weight of the river. Looking up at the sun through the water as he drowned.

When Jean pulled back and opened her eyes, she almost didn’t realize a few tears had leaked out except that Logan was brushing them away with his thumbs. The pain in his expression had very little to do with reliving that horror in all its colorful detail, but rather because he’d never wanted her to see any of that, to know how it’d felt. It wasn’t a burden he thought she should suffer.

“I’m sorry, Logan.”

It was all she could say, but he just shook his head.

“Don’t be.”

Jean struggled with which things she should let him see - it was tempting to only give him her favorite memories, the ones of them together, but after he’d let himself be so vulnerable it wouldn’t be fair. Ultimately, this meant she didn’t really go in order, because the first thing she showed him was the way everything to do with Phoenix panned out, how he’d been instrumental to figuring out a means for her to coexist with the limitless power that stemmed from her genetic makeup.

The insanity of cleaning out Alkali-Transigen labs, butting heads with the Friends of Humanity, all the atrocities orchestrated by Essex Corp. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s constant missteps, including using 9/11 as a convenient distraction so that the public eye would turn away from mutants.

Daken.

Jean could feel him flinch in the real world at the drawn-out fiasco around his son, especially the memory-loss incident. But at least Daken was the last of the terrible things she needed to share with him, and the next thing she fed into Logan’s mind was Laura. The disaster that had been kindergarten, her joining his hockey team in 6th grade and needing to be told repeatedly that checking was only allowed in the professional leagues. Earlier things, too, like how she’d just called Scott “bub” for almost a year until they finally convinced her that wasn’t his name.

Lastly, because it seemed like a good note to end on, was the memories of them, back before Laura. Their first date had been a danger room session, which Logan clearly found amusing, and then Jean losing it every time Logan got hurt on missions no matter how quickly he healed until finally she’d made Scott always pair them up because it meant she could look after him while he was recklessly charging through the enemy.

The last one, though, and one of the most important ones, she decided to show him in person.

It took a few minutes for Jean to find it, rifling through a box of old keepsakes that were mostly useless items. This was no exception; even if by some miracle she ever saw a working VCR again, she didn’t think the damn thing would still play.

“Have you ever seen this movie?”

“Uh… yeah, once, it was showing on tv one night when I was recovering after Liberty Island. Why?”

“Well, when we finally realized we should stop putting it off and started dating, it was right before Christmas, and so you got this for me as a present because you knew it’s one of my favorite movies.” Jean carefully retrieved the Post-It from inside the box; it had stopped being sticky long ago. “And you taped this to it.”

 _Jean-_  
_Just like the guy in this movie, I’d go back in time and die for you.  
_ _Love Logan_

He read it and then snorted: “I guess I did do that, huh? Even if I didn’t really know it at the time.”

She nodded. “Actually, when I first read it, I had that exact thought.”

* * *

Epilogue.

 

Sometimes, he still got flashes of the sentinel war during his sleep, just like he still got the occasional Weapon X nightmare. Jean thought he’d probably have them for the rest of his life if they hadn’t stopped by now. But they weren’t so bad anymore.

It still made him think strangely, sometimes, like why he was supervising fifteen-year-olds skating each other into the dividers instead of out trying to stop giant killer robots, but Logan could shake that off pretty easily at this point. What was a lot more strange to him than the flashbacks and the nightmares that he’d been dealing with his whole life was that somehow he had a bunch of those “favorite teacher” awards from his students. It baffled him to no end why they liked him so damn much.

“If you think too hard, your head’s gonna explode,” Laura remarked before taking a swig of beer.

“Shut up,” he snorted, mimicking the action. “Don’t you have some poor defenseless 8th graders to terrorize or something?”

“You know what, it’s seven at night, and it’s also not my fault that Slim stuck me with substitute teacher duties all week,” Laura griped.

“Yeah, he does that,” Logan chuckled.

They were sitting out and watching the stars come out, which had randomly become a habit over the past couple months. It was winter now, but the cold never bothered them. This wasn’t the cold from the sentinel war anyway - that was a deep, bone-numbing, you’ll-never-feel-warm-again-even-if-you-stood-on-top-of-the-sun cold. This was just chilled air and snow flurries. Really, the weather went pretty good with a box of Molson.

Logan had decided, in spite of some of his prior thoughts, that he wasn’t going to start taking these things for granted the way he had a long time ago. Nobody besides him could remember firsthand what it was like not to have all these things because if you stopped to enjoy something, _anything,_ they’d catch you and your life would end. Ironically, Logan knew Magneto probably would’ve been able to empathize with the idea, but he’d died several years ago and as such couldn’t offer his opinion. Not that they’d ever gotten along anyway.

Still, it was an oddly freeing idea, to understand why he shouldn’t take these things for granted. He’d gone for days or even weeks without clean water, longer without food, no weapons but his inbuilt ones and constantly on the move so that they couldn’t be tracked. Remembering those things made it easy for him not to throw beer bottles at the TV when his team lost during the Stanley Cup playoffs or bitch to anyone nearby that his steaks had been cooked too thoroughly. They were such tiny, insignificant ideas that just weren’t worth his temper.

There were too many other important things that demanded his attention. Like Laura, who he was grooming to coach hockey because he was just getting too fucking old for that shit. Or Jean, who would stay up a little late watching bad action movies on tv with him just because.

That was what he had to focus on. He’d helped stop the sentinel war. Somehow, he’d managed to be a positive influence in the lives of hundreds of kids. He had Laura. He had Jean, despite the odds. Really, at this stage of his life, those were the only things that mattered, and they were the only things he needed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after all that effort and constantly looking up crap from before I was born, and also having to edit over 100,000 words on my own, I am really glad this narrative is over with. But I'm also pretty satisfied with it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read, everyone who left kudos, everyone who commented, and especially everyone who commented repeatedly. You are now free to move on with your lives :D

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please feel free to check out my original WIP, [Nucleus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027367).


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